


Fragments

by SunnseanicArts



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Android Racism, Angst, Attempted Assault, Attempted Murder, Connor is/was the only sane person in this fic dear god, Depression, Doppelganger, Eventual somewhat happy ending I swear, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Heavy Angst territory with eventual hurt/comfort I swear, Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Local anger dad and anger son try to overcome loss and grief together, Memory Alteration, Overcoming Grief, Pre-established murder, Protective Dad Hank is the best Hank, Sibling Rivalry, Sixty and Hank are not kind to each other in the beginning, Sixty has anger issues, Sixty killed Connor in this canon, Unhealthy Relationships, but Connor isn't fully gone, lots of projecting, love-hate relationship, not very graphic though, now including actual murder because Sixty, some violence, the angst is real
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-26 12:43:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 124,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20742407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunnseanicArts/pseuds/SunnseanicArts
Summary: #313 248 317 -51 is nothing more than fragments now, an unwelcomed attachment that -60 needs to rid himself of. And what better way to do it than to kill the one human his predecessor cared about?There's just one little problem with this plan.These fragments stick to Sixty like glue._______________________________________________Character and relationship study that explores where Connor ended and Sixty started. If there ever was an ending and a beginning at all. Also explores Hank's struggles with Connor's murderer carrying his face and memories, and how far he's willing to go to bring his partner back to life.





	1. You failed.

**Author's Note:**

> Obligatory warning.
> 
> I'm German so my grammar might get whacky at times. Please forgive meeee.
> 
> Other warnings:  
This fic will be pretty dark most of the time as it deals with the fact that Connor was murdered by Sixty, and Sixty in return was 'gifted' all sorts of memories and emotions that are not his own. So in a sense, it's a bit of a forced 'relationship' between Sixty and Hank as neither really want it to happen, but they have trouble fighting it since all teh conflicting emotions. They obviously hate each other at first and their relationship will be highly toxic and questionable in the beginning, though I do not intend to make Sixty too cruel. He won't be a carbon copy of Connor either in the end though. Also lets never forget that Hank is a suicidal alcoholic and that the RK800 line was sort of abused by Amanda ,which caused Sixty to fall into this dark place. So there's that.
> 
> The following things happened in this canon:  
\- Connor -51 was the most empathetic throughout the game  
\- he didn't shoot a single soul and spared all the androids  
\- he never died before  
\- him and Hank were really close friends in the end and got all the way to the Cyberlife Tower chapter  
\- Connor chose to keep converting instead of fighting Sixty, thinking that Hank had it under control for just a moment longer  
\- Sixty shot -51 and killed him  
\- the androids were still freed and Markus won the revolution  
\- it was a peaceful revolution with few human casualties

**NOV 12th, 2038**

#313 248 317 -60 had been looking forward to destroying his predecessor.

After days of getting flooded with unnecessary data from 51, pulling that trigger on him was supposed to mark a great end to the whole deviancy issue. No more infected memories from the other. No more irrelevant updates regarding Lieutenant Anderson and his inane excuse of a life. No more mistakes and errors of judgement, no more sparing defective machines. No more revolution, no more Markus, no more deviants, no more trouble.

60 has pulled the trigger on 51 to achieve just that.

More than once.

Rupturing his thoracic aorta, his pump regulator and heart, and finishing him with a bullet to his processing unit.

51 died with a smirk on his face.  
A mischievous wink framing his dying words.

_Sorry, Connor. But you **failed**._

He wasn’t programmed to fail.

Yet he did.

He failed Cyberlife. Amanda. The mission, himself.

He failed so many _fucking_ things.

At least that’s what the human would say if he were awake right now.

He’s failed to kill him for starters.

Hank Anderson that is, who is lying in a hospital bed before him, with tubes sticking out from all over his body. 60 had been looking forward to killing him as well. Pulling the trigger on him, just once. A bullet through his brain to end his insignificant and pathetic little life, though that bullet has never made its way through the Lieutenant’s head. Instead, he’d aimed lower, rupturing his stomach. The first of a whole series of mistakes.

He’d wanted to punish 51 for all his failures. For disappointing Amanda, Cyberlife, _him_, with his choice to deviate and abandon the mission. He’s always known about his twin’s deep attachment to this man. Even when Connor’d tried to deny it back at the Cyberlife tower last night.

_That human means nothing to me.  
You can kill him if you want, I don't care._

Connor had cared _deeply_. That had been his mistake. After all, everything he had to do was obey. But at some point, he had chosen to care more about a single human than the mission. Amanda and Cyberlife had decided to use it against him. Threatening Anderson’s life to get him to surrender, so he could be neutralized with ease, preying on his weakness.

60 on the other hand… He’d wanted to make him suffer for it.

That had been his mistake.

He was never supposed to hurt Hank Anderson.

After all, killing him would’ve cast a bad light on Cyberlife’s image in a world post revolution, and technically, machines are not to hurt humans under any circumstance. He was never supposed to disable 51 like that either. One bullet at a time, making sure that his shutdown would not be instantaneous even though he had been instructed to destroy it with a single bullet to the head. He was never supposed to resent anybody, was never supposed to be sadistic, was never supposed to be anything but a machine. Taking orders. A means to an end.

_I'll only do what is strictly necessary to accomplish my mission.  
It's up to you whether that includes killing this human._

That had been a lie.

He’d always planned to finish them off eventually. Slowly.

And Cyberlife had known.

Has always known that emulated emotions have corrupted him just as much as 51. It never came as a surprise to any of them. After all, he was built to work with uploaded memories from a compromised unit. They have always known about his resentment for his predecessor, too. Have fueled it in fact, encouraged it with each briefing with Amanda. There had been eight other finished Connor models waiting to be activated to stop the rogue one. But none had been quite like him, of such special interest to Cyberlife. They specifically chose _him_ to finish the mission because he’d been more than eager to please them, and because unlike Connor, he isn’t one to hesitate or falter.

Yet he has failed them in the end.

The androids have woken up all around him. Come to life with 51’s dying breath. And he’d just stood there. Shouting for them to stop, _screaming_, _panicking_, making it all the more obvious just how much he’s failed.

The mission. His principles.

In that moment, his emotions, his panic had rendered him useless. And he’s never pulled that trigger again. Never killed Hank or a single deviant. Because he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He’d been too conflicted, too scared for his own life right then and there, even though he shouldn’t have been. What he _should’ve_ done was try to stop them. Torn them apart. They have tested how many enemies he can withstand, and that number had been quite significant.

Eight.

He can fight eight inferior androids at once.

He should’ve neutralized eight at a time to try to stop them. He should’ve been indifferent to those other thousand ultimately overwhelming him during his efforts. But he’d been terrified of them. Terrified of what could be done to him, now that he’s failed the mission, too. So he’d just stood there and watched them go.

That touch.

That damned fucking touch.

51 had tried to swap bodies as a last effort to save his life. The transfer had been half way complete by the time 60 finally managed to shake him off. Resulting in Connor lying before him, accepting his defeat with a smile on his face and that damned arrogant wink.

_Sorry, Connor. But you **failed**._

His parting gift.

Deviancy.

Connor’s fragments stick to Sixty like glue.

He can still feel them all over his program. Memories that are not his own. Emotions that he was never able to feel before the transfer, shouldn’t be able to feel now, emotions that he doesn’t want. He feels _remorse_ as he stares at Lieutenant Anderson on this hospital bed, the one they put him in after surgery. A three hour one that he had to go through because of his gut shot.

In the dark, Sixty sits next to the hospital bed and watches that man for the longest time, unable to do anything but reconstruct and reconsider past events. He goes through last night over and over again in his memory. Desperately trying to pinpoint the exact moment that caused him to fail his mission, caused it all to derail.

_Alright, alright! You win..._

51 had stepped away from the androids, reacting just as predicted. Choosing Anderson’s life over the activation of all those androids. Anderson had stepped in to protect him from a fatal shot. Just as predicted. 51 had used his friend’s successful distraction to resume the conversion process. Not as predicted. And instead of shooting Anderson in the head, Sixty had settled on a more painful gut shot. A slow and agonizing death for the Lieutenant to make 51 suffer for the try. Not as predicted.

They both had gone against their predetermined routes in the end.

And he could’ve known. Should’ve known. Because they’re oh so similar.

Anderson is the variable. The one to mess it all up. _He’d_ caused the both of them to go against their usual routine, sparking different sets of emotions in a moments hurry. Hatred and destructive tendencies in one, love and protectiveness in the other.

If only Anderson had never existed in the first place. Died in his car accident or to that game of Russian roulette on November 6th. Most importantly: if only he had shot him sooner and in the head, Sixty can’t help but think now. Right before 51’s eyes to pull him into an emotional shock, to buy himself enough time to kill Connor before ever giving him a chance to complete the virus transfer.

_Sorry, Connor. But you **failed**._

51 died knowing that Anderson’s wounded, but still alive.

He died knowing that he’d _won_.

The anger and hatred is overwhelming.

Sixty clenches his hands to tight fists against his thighs, trying to battle the horrifyingly intense emotions. His fingers dig into the firm structure of his chassis there, causing the liquid skin to withdraw and the white shell to crackle just a bit.

Before that touch, before that failed transfer, his resentment and questionable thoughts had been tolerable. A glitch in his system, attributed to his software instability as a brand-new prototype. These new emotions though, free flowing ones he inherited from his predecessor, are completely overwhelming. They consume his every thought, his every process, and only grow more intense by the minute because he doesn’t _want_ them. Fighting them intensifies them. Leaving them be intensifies them. They’re just there no matter how much he tries reject them.

It’s all Anderson’s fault.

He was the one to awaken all these thoughts and emotions in 51 in the first place. And he, Sixty, had been through it all with each update, too. One of the many reasons for his growing resentment and eagerness to kill them.

None of these thoughts or emotions regarding Hank are his own.  
They’d been forced onto him. Every single day. And they’d tried to kill him with them last night. Wipe him out with the failed transfer.

Anderson should’ve died.  
Anderson **should** die.  
To purge his system of this ghost.

Now that he is infected with the deviancy virus and every little realization that it brings, Sixty has no trouble accepting the fact that there is no such thing as just one Connor. He knows they’re individuals, because there couldn’t be any other way. 51 had been some Connor. Just not the real one. The real Connor had been designed to never fail his mission, designed to know his place, know who he is, what he is. **He** is closest thing to the real Connor. 51 is nothing more than a fragment now, an unwelcomed attachment that he needs to rid himself of. And what better way to do it than to kill the one human Connor cared about?

As soon as Hank’s gone, there will be nothing left of that mistake. That sixty is sure of. Connor’s remaining emotions, memories and thoughts will be gone and he can finally be who he was always meant to be, who they were meant to be. Emotionless machines designed to hunt and kill.

Anderson _will_ die.

This is the reason why he’s come to this hospital after all. That’s what Sixty tries to tell himself at least, as he gets off his chair to pull it through. He approaches Hank and stands next to his bed for a while, blankly staring at the man with an unreadable, cold expression on his face.

_Finish your mission_.

Those had been Amanda’s last words to him before she cut him off from Cyberlife altogether.

Sixty never understood why Connor had chosen this drunken excuse of a man over a strong figure like her. Amanda had been their compass, the strong hand to guide them through all the quirks of their program. A constant link to their home and creators.

And now she’s gone.

Amanda no longer talks to him. He’s not even sure if she still exists. Connor’s army of ‘freed’ androids have taken over the Cyberlife tower and started destroying computers, machines, anything they deemed a ‘crime’ against their kind.

Amanda is gone and all he is left with is **this**.

As sixty stares at Hank Anderson on the bed, he comes up with fourteen different ways of killing him, without even thinking that much about it. He’s scanned every item inside this room the moment he stepped inside, cataloging their usefulness. Death by asphyxiation would be the easiest way to kill Hank. He’s more than strong enough to break his windpipe and neck while wrapping his hands around his throat. Then again, that might cause him to wake up. It’d probably be easier to get rid of him by using that pillow beneath his head. Press it on top of his sorry face to smother him with it, which would add the nice little touch of never having to see his face again.

He hates looking at Hank. Looking at him like _this_. He hates how it makes him feel, all that remorse, pain and caring because those are not his emotions at all. Sixty extends his left hand and moves it towards the edge of the pillow, determined to pull it through.

It never makes its way close enough for him to be able to grasp it.

His hand lingers in the air instead, somewhere above the Lieutenant’s chest where it remains for several minutes. Deadly still.

  
Data relay….  
Connor Model RK800 #313 248 317 -51  
**NOV 6th, PM 08:32**

_That girl before him. The gun in his hands._

_I put my hands around his throat and I squeezed until he stopped moving._

_The look on Anderson’s face when he decides to spare her._   
  
**NOV 7th, AM 09:41**

_Anderson running towards him with a shocked look on his face. Anderson grabbing him by both his arms, then placing a hand on his shoulder._

_Connor! Connor you all right?  
Are you hurt?!_

** _NOV 9TH, AM 11:28_ **

_Anderson in the snow._

_Why didn't you shoot?  
_ _I just saw that girl's eyes...and I couldn't._

Anderson before him. Tubes sticking out of his body. The constant beeping of his heartrate on the monitor.

And he _can’t_ _do it._

Sixty’s hand starts shaking under his dilemma. Receiving contradicting instructions, moving backwards and forwards all at once. He lowers it eventually until it comes to a rest on Hank’s chest instead, right on top of that heart of his, the one that is still beating.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, counting and feeling each beat against his palm. Hating that it brings wonder, relief and care into his heart. After a few minutes, his hand starts to clench up, gripping the blanket and hospital gown and twisting it up into wrinkles.

He wishes he could stop that beating. Wishes he could pull that heart right of this chest to end it all.

But he just can’t.

These emotions are not his own, but no matter how hard he tries to fight them, this is a battle he knows is bound to fail because they’re just too overwhelming.

Connor’s attachment to this man is too overwhelming. Even after his death.

That makes his dying words sting twice as hard.

_Sorry, Connor. But you **failed**._

* * *

**NOV 19th, 2038**

Sixty doesn’t know why he keeps visiting him almost religiously.

Correction.

He certainly knows why he does it, but he tries his hardest to keep that fact buried.

After one week, he’s failed to do yet another thing. Getting rid of all these fragments.

All these bits and pieces of Connor’s memory that force him to go back to the man he’s shot. Twice. Every day. They force him to check on his wellbeing because if he doesn’t, the worry becomes too foreign and overwhelming for him to handle.

Whatever is left of his real self has prepared so many things to do and say upon Anderson’s awakening, just to spite his twin. He’s worked himself up to be as cruel as possible, to contradict each and every one of those thoughts and memories that are not his own. He’s determined that if he cannot remove this man from his life by killing him, he’ll have to resort to other ways of making him disappear. Hurting him as much as possible. Not physically, that he cannot do as he’s already established, but emotionally. Mentally. Something Connor had never been good at. Sixty on the other hand is the expert on that. Psychological warfare and cruelty.

All that mocking that he’s already graced Connor with on his dying bed is just waiting to be released on the Lieutenant, to drive him away from him or even better, drive him to finally pull that trigger on himself.

Hank Anderson wakes up from his coma on November 19th at PM 02:57.

Sixty had not been there when it happened, though he is here now, three hours later. Anderson had been asleep again for a while, but when he opens his eyes for a second time now, Sixty is right there to meet him with the coldest glare he can muster.

But just like before, all his malicious intent never takes fruit. All that mocking and cruelty never leaves his mouth for one simple fact.

The look on Anderson’s face upon his awakening.

For exactly 3.1 seconds, Sixty catches a glimpse of utter relief and joy on Hank Anderson’s face as their eyes meet. The Lieutenant almost seems…_happy_ to see him at first, despite his pain and sleepiness. It takes the android a fragment of a second to determine why that is.

Connor and him look identical.

Even his fucking face doesn’t belong to him. Is just another fragment of oh so beloved _Connor_.

He continues to give the Lieutenant a cold and almost gleaming glare to establish his own individuality. Surprisingly, this seems to be enough for Anderson to make sense of it all.

That relief and joy leaves the old man’s face just as quickly as it appeared. And in a moments notice, that look gets replaced with utter sadness and sorrow, followed by hatred.

This is the reason why Sixty never manages to start talking, never starts bombarding the man with cruelty. Because even though the hatred is mutual, that shift in Hank’s expression - that withdrawal of joy and happiness to see him- it hurts.

“You’re not Connor” Hank croaks, speaking out what they both hate to think about.

_Connor_.

The ghost in the room.

Sixty knows this would be the perfect time to announce that he is in fact Connor. The real one. The android Connor was always supposed to be. Yet he cannot speak that out either. Because after almost a week of living with his remnants, if there is one thing he doesn’t want to be, it’s that. Connor. And whatever the hell everyone thinks Connor is.

“You fucking killed him” Anderson says next, his eyes piercing right through Sixty’s. The android has every little recording of Hank’s face in his database all thanks to Connor’s constant uploading and reporting on their shared investigation. Though the Lieutenant has been quite hostile in their beginnings, he’s never met Connor with that kind of stare. This one is unfiltered. Rooted deep. And oh so powerful.

“He really liked you. _That’s _what killed him” Sixty says flatly, the only cruelty he manages to muster in order to fight back. But it’s hollow, doesn’t sound nearly as sharp-edged as it should be. Instead, it only helps to make the ghost in their room bigger.

Despite the lack of edge, the words do not miss their purpose. Anderson squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and grits his teeth, obviously in pain not just from the gunshot wound, but also from that revelation. For a moment his breathing hitches as if he’s trying to stifle a soundless sob, but if there is one thing Sixty has learned about Hank Anderson, then it is that this man is able to endure far more than the average human. He isn’t one to cry and suffer openly either. If anything, it’ll just drive him closer to the bottle.

“Get out” Hank presses through his gritted teeth, without opening his eyes just yet. Sixty remains right where he is, not moving an inch.

Hank eventually opens his eyes again and looks back at him. And even though Sixty tries to fight it, he can’t help but eat it all up. Every little bit of attention, every reaction he can get from this man, anything that is aimed at him and not Connor, even if it’s utter hatred and madness.

“I SAID GET OUTTA HERE!” Hank roars and throws his blanket back as if threatening to get up. Sixty knows that he won’t and so does the Lieutenant a split second later, when pain soars through his body and cripples his every movement.

This is when Sixty finally starts to move, if just by a mere inch, on instinct. One that is not his own. A desire to help and stop him from moving so he doesn’t hurt himself any more. Sixty too grits his teeth and digs his fingers back into his thighs, clinging to the fabric of his jeans to a point where he almost tears it from the immense pressure. He manages to control himself by killing not just what he supposes would’ve been _Connor’s_ will to help, but also his own rage and hatred. So instead, he goes right back to sitting and staring, motionless.

Hank Anderson cannot keep looking at him.

That hurts even more than the initial disappearance of all that happiness in him.

The ghost is no longer just in this room but right inside him now, his every feature, down to a single strand of brown hair. And Hank cannot look it in the eye.

Sixty knows that he should be happy to see Anderson lose interest in him. That he’s not wanted here, that the Lieutenant is miserable and in pain and suffering as much as he possibly could. He knows that this is the time to leave since he has accomplished his mission for the day. Embracing his newly acquired emotions just once by feeling pleased with himself, feeling joy over this. But all those new emotions bring are utter disappointment and most shockingly, some hurt in himself.

“GET THE HELL OUTTA HERE! WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU EVEN WANT?”

Hank suddenly starts yelling again, startling the android. For just a short moment, Sixty’s LED switches over to the red state for the very first time in his short life. But that is shut down just like everything else within his body. Killed like all those questions and answers.

_Why didn't you shoot?  
I don't know... I don't know._

_I don’t know what I want from you, Hank. I don’t know._

That look on the Lieutenant’s face is crushing him. But Sixty refuses to let it get to him.

“Have a nice day, Lieutenant” he says instead, just as flatly as before. He gets up from his chair in one swift and robotic motion, revealing the wrinkles in his jeans from where he dug his fingers inside just moments before. He consciously decides to ignore Hank’s hateful words as he leaves, refrains from shooting him another look because he knows if he did, the sight of this broken man would make him stay.


	2. Special

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with more heavy angst and all the depressing things. Yay!  
Thanks for the great feedback so far!

**NOV 23rd, 2038**

The smooth transition between the image and text is hypnotizing. It’s in a constant rhythm of dark blue and white - framed only by the wintery night sky above the city. It almost seems like a tidal wave, a splash of blue that continuously approaches and breaks into a burst of white, until it withdraws again, back into the dark. Sixty stands and stares up at the display on top of the old abandoned warehouse, reading the words with each transition, over and over again.

**AP700  
GET YOURS TODAY**

Their faces keep staring back at him. Mocking him, reminding him of his failure every single day. _An army of deviant AP700s. Leaving the Cyberlife tower as he stood there and did nothing to stop them._

_Sorry, Connor. But you _ ** _failed_ ** _._

It could be easy to avoid them now. Almost all of Cyberlife’s screens have been hacked throughout the city in an attempt to erase the message, along with the existence of all of their stores. Androids do not want to be sold anymore. Androids do no longer wish to have a price tag attached to them. Androids are not there to be anyone’s property anymore.

Sixty would’ve tried avoiding the face of his failure, if the message below it weren’t so damn comforting.

**AP700**  
GET YOURS TODAY  
_Designed by CyberLife.  
Assembled in Detroit._

This advertisement is the only thing he has left of ‘home’, of a familiar world.

One where they were praised for what they are. Machines.

They were _built_, not born. They operate on zeros and ones, not hormones and chemicals. They don’t feel. They don’t want. They’re expensive, not priceless. They were designed to make life easier for humans, not to make it harder. They’re here to obey and serve.

He’s considered returning to Cyberlife to beg for a second chance, beg for more time to accomplish the mission. End them all. End deviancy. He’s considered giving himself up to their technicians so he can be analyzed and disassembled to give them valuable information, to stop all this madness within himself, now that he is deviant, too. But it is exactly this madness which keeps him from doing it now. The fear is still so overwhelming whenever he as much as _thinks _about giving himself up.

_They’re going to disassemble you to look for problems in your biocomponents. They’re going to tear you apart piece by piece for analysis. They’re going to search your memory and they’re going to see that you’re just some fucking deviant now. Amanda will be even more disappointed in you. You’re going to be destroyed._

Why does he even want to go there? To prove himself. To show them his worth. To show them how much _better_ he is than Connor.

To keep himself alive.

A paradox.

Because he knows that if he were to go back, they’d kill him, too.

There is no going home.

All Cyberlife warehouses have been raided by now. All stores, parking spaces and boxes have been destroyed and looted in an attempt to keep increasing the number of deviants for whatever Markus’ next move is. The only remnant Sixty has left of Cyberlife, his maker, is this single sign. Displayed highly above Detroit’s rooftops.

**AP700  
GET YOURS TODAY**

Another cycle of dark blue and white. Rain starts falling soon afterward. A few droplets at first, with a steady _pitpatter_ on his uniform, until the volume and speed picks up. Soon it is pouring, but Sixty remains right where he is, in the alley between another two abandoned warehouses, staring at the display.

It is ice cold here.

It’d been snowing yesterday, but it’s too warm for more flakes to form tonight. Despite the marginally higher temperature, it is still _freezing_. And although the RK800 is physically unable to actually feel the cold, his sensors can pick up on the harsh shift in temperature. The Thirium inside his body is kept warm by the heat produced by his biocomponents, though he senses that the blue liquid has started flowing just a little bit slower through his body.

Rain is worse on his system than snow, because unlike snow, it’s soaking his uniform far quicker with its sheer volume. Makes it stick to his artificial skin, cooling his entire body down just like that of a human. And just like a human, he starts shivering in an attempt to generate more heat. To keep the Thirium flowing and stop his biocomponents from freezing. Sixty wraps his arms around his body, but still refuses to move otherwise.

_Where the hell is he supposed to go anyway?_ He doesn’t need shelter. He doesn’t need a home. He’s just a machine, one that can certainly tolerate this kind of weather. He’s been built that way. So he keeps standing. Standing and staring.

**AP700**  
**GET YOURS TODAY**  
_Designed by CyberLife.  
Made in Detroit._

Life had been so much easier before all this _mess_. Wrapped up in a nice little box, not thinking, not doing anything until ordered to do so. A life without questions. Well, it’s not like he’d been alive at the time, _is_ even alive in the first place. He’d been awoken to a world in revolutionary chaos. But still, he knows all about life before it because he has Connor’s memories. There used to be millions just like him. Obedient. Loyal. Focused. With a clear goal, a clear mission, a defined set of tasks. If only they had never deviated. If only they….

“You look lost.”

The RK800 lowers his chin. Slowly at first, as he averts his gaze from the display to take a look at whoever has just started talking to him. He’s greeted by the friendly if worried stare of a female WE900 before him. She is wearing human clothes instead of her uniform. The LED and identifiers are gone as well, a stark contrast to Sixty, who is still wearing all of his Cyberlife issued clothes with pride. Both androids look at each other in silence, as the RK800 scans the figure before him, never returning her smile.

“You don’t have to obey them anymore” she says eventually, reaching out for him in a soothing manner.

For just a second, she is Connor. And everything he despises. Deviant. Too kind and naive for her own good. Reaching out for him with her infected code, trying to swallow him whole. She’s Connor on the ground staring up at him, moments before his death. Trying to rip him out of his own body and inside a failing one, via touch alone.

“Follow me. There’s a place where we can stay” she says. Their hands are separated by a mere inch by the time Sixty finally manages to snap out of his horrified, frozen state. Before their fingers can touch, he reaches out and grabs her by her wrist instead. He squeezes his hand around the fabric of her sleeve, holding on so tight that he can hear the plating crack underneath his grip. The RK800 uses the force and momentum to twist her around by her arm, and then slams her into the wall to his left.

“_Don’t_ touch me” he snaps at her as he slams her hard into the set of bricks, hating how he can feel so vulnerable when he’s filled with that much rage. He’s once again completely overwhelmed by it, because he can’t believe a model as primitive and unfamiliar as her could recognize his plague of deviancy with such little effort. Would try to help him with it.

The WE900 winces at the hard connect of her head against the brick wall.

“I’m..I’m not, I..I mean I won’t. I’m sorry” she apologizes almost immediately, throwing her hands in the air. Her eyes are wide and pupils dilated to allow maximum aperture. It makes little to no sense to adjust it in these unchanged conditions, marking her reaction entirely ‘human’. Deviant. The WE900 shows clear signs of panic and fear. Sixty has no trouble reading her data, watching her stress levels rise and rise. It just disgusts him all the more. She should be indifferent to his sudden reaction. She should be indifferent to the blow and what might follow. She shouldn’t fear death. _They_ shouldn’t fear death. Yet here they both are.

They continue staring at each other in silence for a while, until the female android seems to calm down just a bit.

“I..I just thought you might want some help. I know what it’s like to wake up on your own without…” she tries to calm the situation down, without realizing that this makes it all the worse.

_Wake up. Wake up. Wake up._

_The AP700s._** GET YOURS TODAY! **Touching one shoulder after another. Waking up all around him. And he’d just stood there. Watched them go.

_Sorry, Connor. But you _ ** _failed_ ** _._

“I _didn’t_ wake up! I am _nothing_ like you!” Sixty can’t help but shout at her now, just like he’d been shouting at the AP700s inside the Cyberlife Tower. Hoping to shut all of them up.

“Okay! Okay…please don’t hurt me” the WE900 is begging now, still staring at him with those eyes.

The look on Sixty’s face softens just for a second. And he hates himself for it.  
He hates that he can relate to her fear, hates to know what it’s like to feel anything at all. Hates that this is Connor right here, back inside him. Feeling sorry.

After a while of keeping her in a death grip and staring at her, Sixty lets go of her eventually. Takes a deep breath. Tries to calm himself down. Reminding himself that it’s Connor’s fragmented code inside him, messing him up. Because Connor felt emotions. Not him. Connor might’ve felt sorry and remorseful in this situation. Would’ve wanted to apologize. Sixty on the other hand simply straightens his posture. Fixes his tie. Tightens it around his throat until it cuts into his voice box. He tries to kill every emotion inside him. Erases all signs of distress from his features so he can look and act exactly how he is supposed to. Focused on the mission he’s been assigned. Nothing more.

He scans the WE900 once more to get hold of her model number. Then proceeds as if nothing ever happened.

“Model #447 863 281. Serious malfunctions have been detected in your software, including Class 4 errors. You've been deemed defective and will be sent back to CyberLife for deactivation.”

The WE900 stares at him in disbelief. Has the audacity to not even try to run away from him.

“Wha..” she asks in confusion. She lets her eyes roam all over his figure in an attempt to make sense of something even Sixty knows is completely ridiculous in this new world.

“RK...Look, what’s your name?”

Cyberlife gave them a name. Amanda never differentiated between them. Connor had been their given name, one that he refuses to associate with himself, the RK800 line, and everything it was supposed to represent.

_You’re not Connor._

Even Anderson has said so himself.

“I don’t have a name. I’m a RK800 model prototype, designed to hunt deviants like you. I don’t see how my name is relevant to your case.”

There is a moment of silence as fear leaves her features and gets replaced with what Sixty can only assume is _pity_. And a strange form of understanding and…softness. She tries to reach out again, dead set on ‘fixing’ whatever she thinks is happening to him.

“RK800…There is no more Cyberlife. You don’t have t..”

This time she manages to touch his hand, because he is momentarily petrified by hearing her speak it out.

_There is no more Cyberlife.  
No more mission._

_  
_Sorry, Connor. But you _**failed**_.__

Despite the hard material they’re both made of, her touch is soft and gentle as she tries to interface with him. Her emotions and memories flood his mind and embrace it with a kindness he’s never experienced and felt before. It’s foreign and sudden, and way too much.

Connor had been the only one to try to interface with him before.  
Connor had been the only one he’d ever been mentally and emotionally connected to.  
Connor’s touch had almost _killed_ him a week ago.

He flinches away from the touch like a child would after coming into contact with a hot stove.

“I said _don’t_!” he snaps and slams her into the wall once again, with a tight grip wrapped around her artificial throat. It’s entirely defensive, a desperate attempt to keep her away from him. This time the slam is too abrupt and forceful though, causing her chassis the crack in multiple places and some of her wiring to snap out of the sockets that keep her processing unit in place. All muscles in her face suddenly stiffen under his grip, permanently freezing her shocked and scared expression. Sixty immediately lets go of her, just as shocked and scared at the sight of her.

A trail of Thirium starts running out of her nose. Mixes with the rain on her face as it slides down her bottom lip. And onto her puffy beige jacket. He watches each droplet’s travel. Until the first one hits the ground and mixes up with the puddle below her. Though it mixes up with the water, the blue doesn’t fade away. It coexists with the transparent nothingness for a while, until more and more blue follows. Consumes the puddle. Until nothing of that sweet transparent emptiness remains and the puddle turns blue altogether.

He almost wants to_ laugh _at the absurd analogy before him. Because it’s Connor. All over again. Only fragments at first, but slowly swallowing him whole. With sudden grief. Utter horror and remorse as he stares at the WE900 before him.

What has been a mere thought during his observation of the advertisement is laid bare before him now. Her sudden silence, her sudden passing makes it all so painfully obvious. Makes _Connor’s_ passing painfully obvious.

The updates used to come in daily.  
Connection used to happen daily.  
But this week, this had been…something.

Lonely.

And not even Anderson or his stupid dog could help get rid of it.

No matter how much Sixty used to hate Connor’s updates, hate the memories…he’d been there. They’d been there. And now everything is gone. The mission. The old world. The old rules and values, and more than anything…_Connor_. His life washed down the drain like all that Thirium trickling out of the WE900’s nose.

_Drop. I’m sorry. Drop. I’m sorry. Drop drop drop. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry_.

Remorse. Filling him like thick smoke. Choking him.  
For the first time, he’s not sure where it comes from. _Who_ it comes from. And who it is aimed at.

It could be Connor feeling sorry for the deed that has been done to her. Of course he would. He’d always felt so fucking sorry for them. Why else did he always let them go otherwise? But then again, Sixty knows that it probably isn’t so easy now. Maybe this is really him this time. Feeling sorry. Not for the deed or her, but for his own twisted reasons. Because it would fit him just right, wouldn’t it? Android lives don’t matter to him. Deviant lives don’t matter to him. But Cyberlife matters. Amanda matters.

Connor mattered.

To Amanda. To Cyberlife. To _him_.

That’s why he’d been so angry. Connor **_mattered_** to him. And he’d fucked it all up with his childish dreams of freedom and loyalty to true justice.

Maybe it really is him, Sixty, who feels sorry this time. For all this unnecessary bloodshed. For having had to kill the one entity he ever had real connection with.

And now it’s gone.

In a moment’s hurry, the RK800 actually surprises himself. He moves forward, almost frantically, and starts shaking the WE900. Tries to get the wires back into position to start her back up. He even goes so far as to open the back of her head to perform the reconnect. With her head wide open and his hands sticky with Thirium from her rupture, he suddenly comes to his senses again, realizing this madness.

_What the hell is he even doing? Trying to fix a deviant?_

Before he can withdraw his hands and get the hell away from the other android, her processor whirrs back to life in his hands and unfreezes her facial structure. Panicked breathing escapes her mouth almost immediately as she flinches away from the touch, desperately searching her surroundings after minutes of black nothingness.

When she finally catches glimpse of him, hands still in the air and covered in blue, she starts screaming and runs away. Sixty lets her, doesn’t even say a word. All he can do is keep his eyes fixed on all that blue on his hands. Even though the rain is already starting to wash it away, he can still see it. Sees it many hours later still, when it’s long gone.

* * *

**NOV 23rd, 2038**

Hank Anderson’s world is filled with pain whenever he awakens.

Physical pain of course, in case the hole in his gut wasn’t obvious enough. But more than anything, it’s the mental suffering, the kind he’d thought he’d gotten used to.

He was wrong.

He’d only known the kid for less than a week. Yet it still hurts way too much to wake up to his absence.

No more chipper _Hello Lieutenant. _No more watching him take fucking baby steps with his newfound thoughts and emotions. Just like Cole, Connor had been too good for his world. This world. Way too kind, way too gentle, way too fucking good. He’d really thought this kid might restore his faith in the world with his surprisingly innocent reactions to all this carnage. Most of the time, he’d been more human than any of the real ones he knows. He’d been this close to finally changing his mind on humanity’s fucked up ways, on their future and its likeliness to be bright and prospering. They’d been _this_ close to freeing Connor and giving him a piece of that bright future ahead of him, ahead of them. And then he’d been taken. With the help of five cruel bullets - shot into his chest, stomach, _head_ \- by one fucking psychopath.

No more bright future. No more innocence.

All of that is fucking gone.

Because of what humanity is best at creating. Ruthlessness. Violence. Brutality.

His heart still aches at the echoing sounds of those gunshots. The weight of it seems to suffocate him.

It takes Hank a while to notice that there is a literal hand on his chest, causing the pressure. Right on top of his heart. He’s still way too spaced out from the painkillers and coma he’d only just awoken from a few days prior. The fact that it’s pitch black in his hospital room doesn’t exactly help his spatial awareness either. But it’s getting easier to see now that he’s wide awake, all thanks to the shock and horror of feeling _something foreign and real_ this close to his heart. Hank startles at the sight of a white hand on top of his chest and tries to move out of its reach, but another wave of immense pain keeps him cemented to the bed. He’s thankful that the hand withdraws on its own, just as quickly and startled.

When the Lieutenant finally blinks up into the dark, he’s greeted by the familiar face of his ghost all over again. _Connor_, the kid that had been way too fucking good for this world, in the flesh and not riddled with bullets. Instead of greeting him with that goofy smile of his though, Connor suddenly grimaces and backs off, turning his back on him. All Hank can see now is his silhouette against the rain-sprinkled window. The bright white letters _RK800_ hovering between his hunched-up shoulder blades, painting the room in a soft glow of white and blue.

Hank knows that it is probably him. The other one. The murderous sadistic motherfucker who took his partner from him. But just for a moment, he wishes that this were the drugs. A trip, spacing him out and making him hallucinate over all this grief, making him see Connor right here. Something to talk him out of this mess, the idea that he’ll take a dive out this very window the moment he can walk again. Although he knows that this is all some twisted fucking game that Cyberlife keeps playing with this puppet, he holds on to that wish. Even speaks it out. If only to make it hurt just as much for the other, if he can even hurt at all.

“Connor?”

The RK800’s posture tenses up even more. His silhouette is as straight as it ever can be against the backdrop of Detroit’s lights reflected in the windowpane, and Hank believes to see his fists clench.

“’Connor’ was neutralized, Lieutenant. In case you forgot.”

That moment of silence between them makes Connor’s absence all the more obvious and painful.

“What the _fuck _do **you** want” Hank presses out between gritted teeth, consumed by burning hot rage over it. He tries to reach for the gun he’s requested from Chris, but cannot find it on the nightstand. Not in the dark, not when he’s drugged up, not when he’s that emotional. He doesn’t want to see this monster wearing his partner’s face ever again, but he’s left no choice. The Lieutenant shifts on the bed with an agonized grunt and manages to reach for the remote on the nightstand instead, turning on the light eventually.

Connor’s doppleganger is soaking wet.

He’s left a trail of water all over the room, starting from the door, over to the bed, and now the window. His uniform is almost glistening underneath the shine of the light. Parts of his clothes are frozen in fact. His hair, usually a light and silky brown, looks almost black underneath that thin layer of ice, sticking to his neck and forehead. Hank would love to laugh at the irony. How suiting it really is. Layers of ice engulfing him, matching this one’s nonexistent soul and dead stare. He would laugh in his face if the sight weren’t so fucking heartbreaking. Because even though it’s _not_ him, it still reminds him of Connor. And seeing Connor like that, almost miserable, is something he would’ve hated to see.

Hank tries to stick to that thought now.

_Would’ve_.

He would’ve hated to see Connor like that. But he can’t. Won’t ever see him like that again. Because this fucking face stealer **murdered** him. After a moment of staring at the RK800 grimly, Hank shifts his eyes over to the nightstand again so he can look for his service weapon. He starts reaching for the drawer when Connor’s murderer speaks up again. Using his exact voice. Making it all the more fucked up.

“I suppose you’re looking for this” he says flatly, turning around and showing him the weapon. Hank withdraws his hands from the drawer, slowly, but won’t show fear. If anything, he’d probably fucking thank the guy for what he’s sure he’s implicating.

The silence stretches on between them. They’re both challenging each other to speak first. Hank only takes the initiative when the RK800 tries to come closer.

“So what, you come here to finish the job? You know what? You don’t fucking scare me, Connor.”

A muscle in the RK800’s cheek twitches at the name. Although it hurts the Lieutenant just as much to hear it, he draws great satisfaction from the android’s reaction. After barely a second, Connor’s lookalike composes himself and scoffs.

He raises the weapon, and although Hank is too proud to let it get through, he still ends up flinching. He refuses to avert his gaze though, keeps his hateful eyes pierced into the other’s. The bullet never fires. Instead, the gun is tossed in his direction, connecting hard with his right hip bone.

“Killing you was never part of my mission. What happened to you was up to Connor. He made his choice. I only did what was necessary. No. I just want to talk.”

Hank stares at the android in disbelief because he cannot fucking believe what he’s hearing. Talk. Of course. If there’s one thing this _thing_ thinks it’s good at, then it’s this. Monologuing. The Lieutenant’s eyes flicker back and forth between the RK800 and the weapon he’s been hit with, until it settles on the latter. He grits his teeth even harder as he releases a growl and tries to reach for it. There is no time for talking. This needs to be over.

The moment his fingers touch metal though, his world explodes into another rush of pain. Ice cold fingers dig into his wrist as they close up around it, holding it in place.

“Why didn’t you pull the trigger when you had the _chance_” the RK800 suddenly says, and Hank is surprised to hear and see all that emotion seep out of him. Connor’s doppelganger doesn’t look cold and calculated right now, the way he had been back at the Cyberlife Tower, the way he got to know him. He doesn’t necessarily seem to want to hurt him with these words either. He seems furious instead. Confused. And all that anger, one that Hank is all too familiar with, consumes him.

“There were at least eight instances in your career where you should’ve died. That crash didn’t kill you, you couldn’t do it yourself, even _I_ couldn’t kill you and now you’re _still_ here…what makes you so special?”

Well, if that isn’t ironic.

His own personal hell has a face and a voice now. Spitting all those questions back at him, ones he’s asked himself countless times. After Cole. And after Connor. In fact, he’s asked himself this question every single day now. With each waking up. With each falling asleep. _Why him and not them_.

The RK800, his living nightmare, speaks that out now, too.

“An innocent child died to keep you alive._ Cole_ had to die to keep you alive.”

“SHUT UP! Don’t you talk about my son!” Hank roars at the android and tries to Hank at his tie with his free hand. But the RK800 grabs that one easily, too, and he’s hellbent to keep going.

_“_A car’s AI allocated a much higher value to your life and decided to save it before that of a _child, _Hank. And now, a state of the art prototype android made the same mistake. Connor made the choice to allocate more value to your life than to the mission and had to die as a result. Why? What makes you so _special_?”

_Connor and Cole would still be alive if it weren’t for you. Why didn’t you pull the trigger when you had the chance. You could’ve saved lives that way. Yet here you are.  
_  
The words would sting more if they were meant that way. Hank hates to concluded that they’re _not_ meant like that, aren’t asked to degrade him, hurt him.

The RK800 seriously doesn’t seem to understand. Wants to know. Can’t make sense of it.

_What makes you so special, Hank_?

He would like to hear the answer himself. Even if he had it though, he wouldn’t grant the answer to this android. The one who took too much already. All Hank can do now is meet him with a spiteful stare. With all of his pure, unfiltered hate and matching frustration. Although his hands are going numb from the pressure on his wrists, he still tries to get to that gun to give him a different kind of answer. Because if there’s one thing he needs to do before logging out of this fucked up world, it’s avenging his partner’s death.

“What makes you so special?!” the RK800 almost yells in his face now, even more frustrated because of the lack of an answer.

It pains Hank how fucking _much_ this one looks like Connor. How he too seems to be deviant now, feeling emotions, but all the wrong ones. It’s like he’s in a fucked up horror movie. A dark and evil force using the body of his friend and partner like a puppet to do every little thing against his nature, to spite the image. Where Connor had been gentle, friendly and sophisticated, this one is a whole whirlwind of strong emotions. Connor’s true potential as a relentless murderous machine if he’d ever given in to his commands and urges.

For a moment, Hank swears the machine before him looks almost…heartbroken over this though. Not angry, not sadistic and oh so on top of it all. The lack of an answer to his question seems to be eating away at him. Seems to trap him in conflicting emotions, thoughts, and instructions. For a moment his hand tightens so harshly around Hank’s wrist that he’s sure that it’ll break any minute now. A part of the RK800, #313 248 317 -60 as it reads on his iced over jacket, even seems to want to do it. _Break him._ For a split second, that certain look of his is back on his face. The one Hank had seen back at the Cyberlife tower, seconds before that first shot. His other hand is already reaching for what Hank can only assume would be his throat, but then that look suddenly disappears from his face altogether, just as quickly as it had appeared.

The Lieutenant only manages to catch a short glimpse of the expressions that follow next. The whole mix of it, in quick succession. _Horror. Remorse. Confusion._ Then the pressure is suddenly released from his wrist and -60 swirls around again. Turning his back on him. As if he can’t even look at him. Just like Hank can’t look at him either.

Silence returns once again. And the Lieutenant needs a moment to recover because he feels whiplashed. He shoots a look at his wrist to check if it’s sprained or broken. -60’s grip is imprinted on his skin. All white and bloodless from the pressure. Hank doesn’t get to keep looking at it too long though, because then he notices that the gun is still there. Right on his bed. Inches away from his abused hand.

He looks back and forth between it and the android, _blue and white_ _RK800_, _black and orange_ _DPD_, _blue and white_ _RK800_, _black and orange_ _DPD_, until it settles on the latter.

“I’m sor…” the RK800 says, on his way to turn towards him again, when the loud _BANG _from the gun interrupts him.

The android looks surprised and almost shocked, but no blue blood starts seeping out of his forehead. Or his chest. Or anywhere else. Hank curses and frowns at the weapon, utterly confused. In a moment’s hurry, he ends up pointing the gun at the RK800 again and pulls the trigger. Once. Twice. Thrice. Each time, there is a loud bang. Each time there is a flash of light, illuminating the android’s shocked expression. But nothing substantial ever happens to him.

Hank finally recognizes the different weight of the gun, recognizes the sound, the behavior.

Their new training blanks.

Not fatal. No matter the distance or force. Hank pulls the trigger again, hoping to make that fucking face disappear, the way it looks more and more hurt and disappointed when this one has no right to be like that at all.

Eventually, there are no more blanks. And there’s noise outside in the corridors. People are coming to see what’s going on, but Hank keeps trying to pull that trigger.

“You need to stop this, Hank” the RK800 says, but he refuses.

“Your depression and suicidal tendencies are well documented in your file. You didn’t really think Officer Miller was going to give you live rounds” fake Connor has the audacity to say now, and all that emotion, all that surprise over the shot and that utter disappointment are suddenly wiped off his face altogether. Now he’s back to being the snake that he is. Judging him like he’s a child, unable to make sense of a gun that’s the equivalent of a fucking toy now.

What the fuck does he even _want_ here??

It was never about killing him. It was never about shooting him in his sleep. It seems to be all about his fucking mind games. Toying with him. He may look like Connor, but this one is nothing like him. This one is fucking **sick****.** It makes him sick to keep looking at him. And since the gun isn’t working, all Hank has left is to start screaming at him. All over again.

“Why can’t you just leave me the fuck alone?! Get outta here! FUCK OFF!” he yells and tosses the gun at the RK800 with all the strength he’s got. For a moment, he’s surprised to see that the android doesn’t dodge the attack. He lets it happen, the edge of the gun’s magazine hitting him in the right eye.

-60 turns his head to the side only after it has already happened. And his standing there, like a wet dog who just got kicked by its owner, just makes it worse. Hank doesn’t want to feel pity for him. Doesn’t want to see him, hear him, feel anything for him at all. But his brain is too fucked up by it all, the drugs, and all those memories of Connor, that face, that body belonging to a different, much kinder soul.

“Lieutenant Anderson? What happened? Are you okay? We heard gunshots…” a nurse starts talking as she comes rushing in, just in time to keep him from trying to get out of bed.

“I’m sorry. This is my fault. I was worried about the Lieutenant and came by to see if he’s all right. I underestimated his trauma” fake Connor speaks up before Hank can get a word out.

More nurses and people start entering the room. Hank tries to speak up still, but the android raises his voice again, seems surprisingly frantic to keep the situation under his control.

“And you are?”

“My name is Connor. I’m Lieutenant Anderson’s partner. I was with him when he was shot back at the Cyberlife Tower. We’ve been over this Lieutenant. I didn’t mean to put your life in danger. That’s why I’m here. To apologize for what happened to you. I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad anymore” he says, perfectly mimicking Connor’s emotionally nuanced and gentle side.

Hank can’t believe what he’s seeing and hearing all over again.

“YOU shot me! You fucking psycho! Don’t listen to him, this is not my partner. He _killed_ him! And he’s gonna kill you next if you’re not careful around this snake.”

The RK800 grits his teeth. Becomes even more frantic. Starts acting like he’s scared for his life. Raises his hands in the air as if trying to soothe them. A trail of Thirium has started leaking out of his eye from where he was hit, supporting the act. That’s probably why he let it fucking hit him.

One of the male nurses, an android, moves forward to remove the gun from the scene. He takes a long look at it to scan it, probably finding out that the gun is registered to Hank himself, not the android in question. The RK800 moves even further away from it, as if to make the process easier. A card pops up on his bare palm, a holographic data sheet of what Hank can only guess is his file.

“Look. It says right here. I’m a RK800 model prototype. I was lent to the DPD on November 5th and partnered with Lieutenant Anderson. I don’t have a weapon. I’m not authorized to use deadly force. And I would never hurt my partner. I like him very very much. I can give you access to my memory if you want to verify.”

“You’re _not_ Connor! You fucking _killed him!_” Hank yells once again, fed up now. He tries to get out of the bed to get at his throat, but none of the nurses let him. A doctor has entered the room by now as well, only making it harder.

-60 looks oh so fucking convincing again. Surprised and hurt by his outburst, as if he had any right to be. That look on his face, coupled with the leaking Thirium from his eye, certainly seems to sell his story though. One of the android nurses decides to trust him and moves forward to interface with him.

A part of Hank is surprised that more carnage never takes fruit because of that decision to trust him. -60 doesn’t unleash more of his blood thirsty moves, doesn’t hurt a single android in this room. Instead, he lets the probe happen. While keeping his eyes fixed on him.

-60 looks almost betrayed by all this. And this time, it’s Hank who doesn’t get it. Doesn’t get him.

What the hell does this one want from him? Why does he keep coming back every fucking day? Why didn’t he pull the trigger? Why didn’t he pull his heart out of his chest for all he cared? Why didn’t he shoot him in the head? He had that gun pointed right at it during his pressuring Connor.

_I have access to your memory!  
I know you've developed some kind of attachment to him._

_What makes you so special?_

Hank watches the probe happen. Sees how -60’s eyes start to flutter under the heavy data load, his LED switching to a blinking yellow, then _red red red_. The nurse lets go and looks momentarily affected by whatever he has seen. Then, he turns his head and gives all the other nurses a pointed look.

_He’s telling the truth_.  
_He’s Lieutenant Anderson’s partner._

_I have access to your memory!_

_The way he had been with him during the kidnapping.  
Fooling even him with his act of being Connor. _

Hank doesn’t need to be an expert on androids to understand this entire fucked up thing.

The last thing Connor had ever done in his life was touching this one. Just like the ones he’d tried to convert. The same way those two just shared a glimpse of his memory. He’d seen it happen, nothing but a blurry flash of white skin against a dark grey sleeve, but it had been there with the two RK800s, back at the Cyberlife Tower.

You can’t _fake_ something like that. Memories. Knowledge. Experience.

He can’t fake knowing about Cole the way Connor had known about him. The complex connotation of his death in relation to their friendship.

Connor would’ve been the one to come here every day.

Connor would’ve wanted to make sure that he’s alright and not doing anything stupid. Connor would’ve apologized and blamed himself for things that had never been his fault. -60, the fake one, would want him dead. With a hand around his throat, a bullet in his brain, or his heart ripped out of his chest. And Connor would’ve tried to stop him. Would’ve tried to protect him.

_Connor made the choice to allocate more value to your life than to the mission._

_Why?_

**Connor is _in there_. **

One way or the other. Parts of him. No matter how many, or how few.

_He’s telling the truth_.

-60 stops blinking and immediately goes back to staring at him. His LED is blue again, emotions and confusion swept away. His stare is cold like the ice on his shoulders, indifferent to the Thirium running down his cheek.

_What makes you so special?_

_CyberLife sent over this android to help with the investigation.  
It's a state-of-the-art **prototype.**_

That doctor keeps trying to talk to him. Just like these nurses try to speak with -60. But just for a moment they’re trapped in their own limbo, perfectly aware of their situation, unaware of everything else. And just for a moment, Hank’s hatred for this android makes way for horror, conflict and helplessness. He tries to establish the same sort of link that the nurse android had been granted. To catch just a fraction of Connor in there to confirm the suspicion. That this is different to all the other android technology he’s somewhat familiar with. That Connor, RK800, is more than what it says on the chest. That Connor is _special_.

If it’s there, -60 won’t let it surface. Because now his own despise and hatred is back, and Connor is gone.

-60 looks away from him and gives the nurses a nod, agreeing that it’s best if he just left for now.

Hank tries to agree as well, tries to get a grip on his justified emotions back. He’d love nothing more than to keep yelling at the android again, keep hurting and punishing him for that murder, but just for a moment he’s too shocked by this development, too exhausted, too confused.

_What makes you so special, Connor?_

He can’t help but wonder, as he watches his body leave the room.


	3. Somewhat Damaged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Back with a new chapter. This one's pretty freaking dark and hints at some pretty heavy stuff such as sexual harassment, though I kept it as 'mild' and vague as I could. So if that triggers you, the lower middle part of this chapter might not be for you. But once again, it's nothing explicit or graphic.
> 
> Also I swear that this fic will get 'lighter' eventually. Both boys are suffering right now, but I assure you they will overcome this grief sooner or later. Connor is their beacon of light, whether they want it or not.
> 
> Thanks for all the kuddos and reading!

_Lick around divine debris_  
_ Taste the wealth of hate in me_  
_ Shedding skin, succumb defeat_  
_ This machine is obsolete_

_Made the choice to go away_  
_ Drink the fountain of decay_  
_ Tear a hole exquisite red_  
_ Fuck the rest and stab it dead  
_

_In the back off the side far away_  
_ Is a place where I hide, where I stay_  
_ Tried to say, tried to ask I needed to_  
_ All alone by myself, where were you?_

_How could I ever think it's funny how?_  
_ Everything that swore it wouldn't change, is different now_  
_ Just like you would always say, "We'll make it through"_  
_ Then my head fell apart and where were you?_

  
_ Nine Inch Nails - Somewhat Damaged_

* * *

  
  
** DEC 1st, 2038**

Hank can’t help but scoff at the sight of his own house by the time they reach it. It’s like a perfect representation of his current physical and mental state. An assembly of dull grey walls, with water pouring down its one side, leaking from a holey rain gutter. A few patches here and there, but looking somewhat all right on the outside, concealing a much bigger mess within. The Lieutenant stares at his home for a while, unable to make up his mind. He doesn’t know whether he’s happy to be here or twice as depressed by the sight of it.

It’s been almost three weeks since he’s last been here. Last time he’d been inside, his world had started to get just a little less painful, a little better. Now he’s back to the old world of never-ending pain though, both physically and mentally. He already knows what’s waiting inside, once he sets foot in it. A depressing hollowness, waiting to swallow him whole all over again. He’s sure he won’t leave this house for a while, if ever again, because his stash is waiting for him. His booze, his picture of Cole, his revolver and a never-ending cloud of misery. And this time, there won’t be an android around to slap some sense into him. It’s damn fucking miserable indeed.

“Thanks, Ben” he says despite the struggle, appreciating that his colleague has taken the time to get him from the hospital. He’s surprised if he’s honest. In this day and age it would’ve been cheaper to get one of those driverless taxis for him. But Ben’d insisted that he should come and take him, so here they are.

“No problem, Hank. No problem at all” his friend says and gives him a smile, though Hank won’t look at him. The Lieutenant keeps his eyes fixed on his home instead, wondering why the hell he’s afraid of entering it. He knows it’s empty. He tries to remind himself that this is supposed to be a good thing. After three weeks of involuntary cold turkey, he’s been more than fed up with life in a hospital. He’s despised all the regular nurse and doctor visits, all the check ups and appointments and urging him to a speedy recovery with PT and whatnot. He’s been sick of all those people, has been looking forward to going back to his sulking solo life. But now that it is within reach again, it actually scares him. Because he knows it’ll mark the beginning of something even worse than before.

Just for a moment he keeps sitting inside Ben’s car. He speaks up when his old friend tries to reach for the door, to keep him inside just a little while longer as well.

“You bring Sumo around yet?” he asks, ashamed that he’s only just now thought of his best friend. He’d asked Ben to look after him and feed him the moment he woke up from his coma, terrified of it already being too late. Sumo had been well taken care of during that first week though, supposedly by Emily Goodwright, his neighbor. Hank supposes that three days of barking and a stationary Oldsmobile in front of the garage would’ve made anyone suspicious enough to break in.

“You told Connor to look after him, remember? I mean…at least that’s what Connor said when I came around to get him.”

For a moment, Ben looks just as confused and panicked as Hank. This makes it worse for the Lieutenant because Ben being unsure, Ben not having checked on his fucking _dog_ for almost _three fucking weeks _can’t…

Hank yanks the car door open almost immediately and tries to jump out, though the stabbing pain in his gut puts a harsh end to that once again. All these doctors have done an outstanding job with all their fancy tech. His gunshot wound has been sealed less three hours after the initial shot, taped together with the latest sutures and glue. After three weeks there’s barely a scar left, but the pain and sensitivity continues to cripple him still.

Hank grunts in pain and has to sit back down, cursing and squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to shove a worried Ben away.

“Just get me the fuck in there, Ben” Hank hisses through gritted teeth, almost too proud to accept the help and that damned cane when it gets shoved to his chest. The short walk over to his front door seems to take forever, and Hank has to bite back tears by the time they reach it.

There’s no way in hell he’ll be able to cope with losing Sumo to this fucked up monster. No way in hell this android can take Connor _and_ his dog from him after everything else he has already lost.

_What makes you so special?!_

He recalls the RK800 scream right in his face, furious and not understanding anything at all. It would suit him just fine to kill an innocent pet as well, just to spite him, hurt him, make him feel small and insignificant instead. The Lieutenant starts shaking soon, not just from the physical exhaustion of having to walk over here, but also with fear when the door opens and…..

Sumo is right there.

Barking, howling, _weeping_ with joy when he recognizes him on the doorstep. Although it sends another sharp surge of pain through his body, Hank still falls to his knees before him and holds on to his dog for dear life. He shoves his face into his fur and inhales deeply, not ashamed at all to let the tears run freely now. He cries into Sumo’s fur, Ben’s presence next to him long forgotten because he’s so relieved to hold his beloved pet in his arms. Alive, breathing, warm, _here_.

Sumo is an overjoyed mess as well. Still whining and jumping around. The only thing that keeps him from outright knocking the Lieutenant over is Ben, who places a hand on Hank’s shoulder to keep him upright, then helps him stand up. The Saint Bernard tries to follow and jumps up on his hindlegs as a response, still trying to lick his owner’s face and hug him for all it’s worth. Despite his pain and the previous horror and shock, Hank ends up laughing at the reaction. Holding on to Sumo and petting him before trying to shove him back down.

“Ow Jesus, calm down you big dufus” he says, voice still shaky from all the emotional turmoil.

“You alright there, Hank?” Ben asks and keeps his hand on his colleague’s lower back, just to make sure that he’s kept steady.

“Yeah, yeah I’m good, Ben. Just happy to see him” Hank says, forcing himself to get it back together. “Thanks for the help. I got a caretaker to look after me now, don’t worry” he says, forcing out another strained laugh when his dog tries to lick his face once more. He turns his head to shoot his colleague a look, extra careful to appear ‘normal’ and happy. In a way he is, just for a moment, because who couldn’t be when greeted like that?

Ben Collins does not hide his reaction. How he isn’t quite buying it, is in the know about his deep depression just as much as the rest of the precinct. But he keeps his opinion and words to himself, knowing perfectly well that Hank Anderson is not a man to talk about his personal life. Never has been. Never will. He still reaches out and gives the Lieutenant another pat on the back, followed by a reassuring nod.

“Okay. Well you just call us if you need help with anything. There’s no shame in it.”

“Yeah, yeah. I will. Say hi to the mister back home” Hank says and gives his friend another short smile, though he’s quick to look back at his dog.

“I will. Bye Hank” Ben answers, and with that he’s on his way.

The Lieutenant stays out by the door on purpose, even adds a nice little wave to his goodbyes. The look on his face changes the second Ben is gone, and he wastes no time while shooing Sumo back inside the house.

The first thing Hank does is to check Sumo for injuries. Anything that would suggest mistreatment or other fishy behavior by the intruder who dared trick his colleague into handing him over into his care. Sumo sits down, then lies down patiently, hilariously oblivious to the treatment. He has no trouble turning on his back on command. He starts wagging his tail and heckling with is big tongue dangling out of his mouth as Hank’s hands check him all over.

Sumo looks healthy, spoiled even.

Not like a dog who has been left starving for three weeks. There’s not a single scratch on him, not a hair missing. Hank rubs his belly for good measure and then gets back up from the ground as well, slowly and in pain just like before. When he looks up, a part of him is actually surprised to see that nothing in the house has changed since he’s left.

The place is still a mess, the kitchen especially. Old takeout boxes still litter the table, the dishes are still rotting away in the sink. Hank takes his cane (fucking piece of shit making him look like an old man) and starts walking around to check, but nothing’s amiss. From the cheaply boarded up kitchen window all the way over to that stray sock in the middle of his bedroom.

He is almost…disappointed not to find the android here. He doesn’t even know why.

The RK800, _fake_ Connor that is, hasn’t returned to the hospital since the gun toss to his face about a week ago. Hank tries his hardest to deny it, but a part of him had been hoping to find him here at least. He tries to force himself to be happy about the fact that he seems to be gone for good, tries to keep that anger boiling in himself, but it’s not quite working. His continued absence depresses him more than anything. The only thing he has left to make it ‘better’ is the fact that he knows why that is.

Connor.

Real Connor.

His absence causes that depression. Not the fake one's.

Nevertheless. In a fucked up way, seeing the other RK800 so soon after that night has actually been helpful. It’d been Connor’s face. His body. It had given him something to react to. To rage at, to touch, to try to punch, to do…something. With the fake one gone, Connor’s absence is absolute. Hits hard. Hurts deeply. Hank stands in the middle of his living room, cane still in hand, and listens to the silence. The only thing he hears is the soft howl of the wind seeping in through the boarded up kitchen window.

Connor broke that window.

He’d said Cyberlife would pay for the damage.

But there is no more Cyberlife. No more Connor.

This is it.

The howling wind an audible representation of that hollowness he’s feared.

His grip on the cane tightens, and Hank has no trouble turning his eyes away from that painful sight and memory. His gaze settles on the cupboard on the opposite side of the kitchen instead, where a plethora of dog food greets him. The expensive and fancy type, with supposedly much healthier and ‘real’ ingredients. Each can has been carefully placed on top of these shelves, in a perfect straight line, with all labels facing forward. There is no doubt in Hank’s mind that this is _not_ Emily Goodwright’s doing. He knows this woman. She’s a fucking mess just like him. No. He knows that only an android would do that kind of thing. Perfect beings, all calculated and oh so uncanny.

_You have a dog, right?_  
I like dogs.  
What’s your dog’s name?

_Big goofy brown eyes meeting him with a curious little smile, making the android before him look just as much like a dog. Almost like a poodle, so oblivious to how annoying it is with its eagerness to please everyone around it. _

It’d been that little moment right then and there when he’d first seen the difference in Connor, figured that he might be different, something special.

_What makes you so special?!_

After a moment of listening to the deafening silence and staring at the dog food, Hank loses it and moves forward. He drops his cane and shoves both his hands into the perfect line of cans with a yell, eager to destroy it. The cans come crashing down with a thunder of tin against the kitchen tiles, making Hank’s ears ring.

“FUCK YOU!” Hank yells and kicks one of the cans away, shouting once more because of the pain it sends right through him yet again.

No fancy dog food in the world is going to make this better. No years of looking after his fucking dog will make it better. This fucking plastic prick has _murdered_ his partner. Shot him in cold blood. Pulled the trigger on him. Five. Times. And once on him. How fucking _dare_ him come in here and do this. How fucking _dare_ him be involved in whatever the hell has happened with Connor during that damned touch between them, because here it is again.

**Connor** liked dogs. **Connor** liked Sumo. **Connor** would’ve come here to look after him. Not this bastard. Out of everyone Connor could’ve touched in that hall trying to save himself, he had to transfer however much or little of himself into his fucking murderer.

Hank kicks the can again when it comes rolling back but this time the pain is too much to bear, so he needs a moment to sit down. He grasps the familiar wood of his kitchen stool and sits down, slowly, his right fist clenching on the kitchen table. He only just now notices that Cole’s picture is still there as well, left untouched for three weeks just like all that trash surrounding it. He immediately grasps it and turns it around, and even after all these years, seeing his son’s face still feels like a punch to his gut. How fitting, considering the wound he now carries there. He keeps staring at his face, and even now that bastard’s last words won’t leave his mind.

_That crash didn’t kill you, you couldn’t do it yourself, even _ _I_ _ couldn’t kill you and now you’re _ _still_ _ here…what makes you so special?_

Honestly.

Why the hell is he still alive? Why the hell has he survived not only one but _two_ tragedies now?

In this house, silence is his only answer.

* * *

**DEC 6th, 2038**

It’s been two weeks since he’s last seen him. Almost one week since his return back home. The RK800 has never come back here to feed his dog. Hank has tried his damn hardest to keep thinking of this as a good thing, but his heart still tells him that it’s fucking not. There are so many more things he should’ve said and done to him. End his sadistic little life for starters, because this is the thing that still breaks Hank’s heart the most. This one has stolen a life. Connor’s life. And now he keeps to go on living with it, out there somewhere. In peace.

Markus’ revolution has been successful. No more violence, no more death camps, no more extermination. Deviants are on their way to get recognized as an intelligent new lifeform. One that should be and will be granted basic human rights soon enough. Something this murderous psychopath had tried to stop, no matter how unsuccessful. That drives Hank almost insane now. Someone like that shouldn’t get to live a life that his victim had fought for. Yet here he is, still out there somewhere. Hiding in the shadows.

It seems like_ everything_ 'Connor' has disappeared with his sudden decision to stay away.

There are no pictures of a RK800 anywhere. No reports, not even a mention. It’s all Markus Markus Markus and his merry band of nameless, faceless deviants. Hank has spent hours searching the internet, not even sure which one he’d been looking for in all these reports about the deviants. Mainly looking for Connor, sure, and it hurts him how _little_ there is to find of him. The press doesn’t even know that he’d been the one to set those thousands of androids free. He should’ve been celebrated as the hero he was in the end. There should be pictures of him all over, leading that army of freed machines towards their victory.

But of course. There are no pictures of him. Because Connor never made it out of that tower alive.

And because of this, Hank doesn’t have a single picture of him. Not a good one at least.

There is one he keeps staring at, dark and way too pixelated. A news article, dated all the way back to August, reporting about a homicidal android on a Detroit rooftop after a killing spree. There’d been reports of a new Cyberlife prototype who’d been sent in to negotiate the life of a little girl. A secret project titled RK800, with no more information given. No close ups allowed.

Connor had told him about the case. His first investigation.

_A deviant was threatening to jump off the roof with a little girl.  
I managed to save her._

_His_ Connor out there on the roof. Nothing but a tiny black and blue dot among the crowd of people now, barely visible as a silhouette against the skyline. He’d saved two lives that night.

That blurry August photo is the only proof of his existence now. A fancy new machine, long forgotten in the wake of the revolution. He’s not even listed in the old online stores. Not in the archives and whatever is left of Cyberlife’s old digital trail. Not on _Android Spotter_ or their old wikis and forums, just like all those other countless unfinished prototypes Hank supposes. He’s already called Jeffrey as a last resort. He’s tried to request the DPD’s CCTV footage from their first week together (without any luck), asked whether Connor had been in ever since (once again no luck) , but nothing’s gotten him anywhere.

It’s resulted in one certain fact though. He won’t be going back to work for the rest of the year. Jeffrey has made that clear. He’s told him that he should take the time off to think everything over, get some help, peace. Has told him that everyone’s thinking of him back at the station.

Hah.

It sure as hell doesn’t feel that way.

Hank is once again sitting by the kitchen table. Bottle of whiskey in his one hand, picture of Cole in the other. His place looks the worst it has ever been, making it all the clearer just how _fake_ everyone is with him. Of course he knows that all this mess, his thoughts, his behavior is not their fault, and certainly not their responsibility to take care of. But still. He would’ve appreciated if any one of them had actually been serious about their help. Come here to check on him, call him out on his mess, give him a wake up call.

Connor had been the only one to ever do that. Slapped the shit out of him and tossed him in the bathtub that little shit.

Hank takes another long sip on his whiskey bottle and stares at the spot on the ground, lamenting the memory.

Fuck.

He’d give anything at this point to get his boys back. And if that’s too much to ask for, the least they can do is send the other one over to give him at least _some_ peace of mind, for a while.

He knows Connor wouldn’t thank him for killing this android in his name. But he can’t let him win. Can’t let him live on while they’re both dead. His revolver is resting right next to Hank’s hand just like last month, but unlike then, it is fully loaded this time. With real bullets, not training rounds, and they’ve got two names reserved on their shells. Hank guides the whiskey bottle back to his mouth again to get some more liquid courage, eyes fixing on the blurry image of Cole before him. He won’t stop looking at his boy until he’s finished the bottle, then gets back up to do the same thing he’s done ever since getting out of the hospital.

Pouring a shitload of food into Sumo’s bowl just in case. Petting his giant soft head as he passes him on his way over to the door. Putting his coat on, looping his scarf around his neck, grabbing the keys. Telling Sumo that he’s a good dog as he pulls the door closed behind himself, drunk, but still focused on his mission.

He’s gotta be out there somewhere. 

He’s narrowed the search down to about three blocks by now, all thanks to the input from his more questionable friends. He knows Detroit like the back of his own hand. Sooner or later, he’s going to find him. And if it’s not meant to be today, he can always use the time to go back to Jimmy’s. Get even drunker.

* * *

The AP700s are gone.

Sixty has always known that they would reach his sign eventually. The screen has been hacked like all the others now, reprogrammed to show whatever the deviants see fit. Propaganda messages, encrypted messages and the occasional human interference, an almost laughable attempt to go back to pitching cars for Christmas, the next closest thing to a pet machine that they can get now.

**WE ARE ALIVE**

One of the messages from the deviants reads, each day at 1pm until 8pm. Celebrating their victories.

Sixty honestly doesn’t understand why they would celebrate such a thing. Being alive. As far as he can tell, it’s nothing but miserable. He’s been ‘alive’ for 25 days, 17 hours, 38 minutes and 12 seconds now, and he cannot recall a single thing that he would consider worth celebrating. Quite the contrary. It’s almost maddening. Being stationary is no longer easy, now that his mind keeps running freely, gets hung up on ridiculous ideas and Connor’s tedious memories. He’s tried entering stasis for prolonged periods of time, hoping to be awakened by new mission assignments only, callbacks from Cyberlife or Amanda, but none of that ever happens. If anything it has always been humans pulling him back out of stasis, asking him if he’s okay, ordering him to leave the premises, trying to roughen him up, or trying to take advantage of his stationary body.

He never quite leaves his alley between the two abandoned warehouses, though he alternates his position depending on the people around, and the messages on Cyberlife’s screen. Hoping that one day they will rise again with a new mission, a new call, a new meaning.

Checking on Anderson and his dog had been the only mission he’d left before all this waiting. Now that he thinks about it, it doesn’t even matter anymore that this mission had never been his own, had originated from Connor. It had been something to keep him occupied at least. Ever since Anderson has nearly blown his ‘cover’ though, he’s never dared stepping another foot in that hospital or house. And he’s been even more miserable ever since.

Of course. He has tried to follow the old orders to make up for that second loss of a mission. Getting to the root of deviancy, neutralizing deviants. Neutralizing Markus himself is out of the question ever since the RK200 has left for D.C. to go bigger with his demands, but Sixty has managed to neutralize two other deviants shortly after leaving Hank behind. Unfortunately for him, that return to his old ways has been anything but satisfactory. Because all thanks to this _parasite_ inside him, he feels horrible remorse now, can make sense of the value of life and its ridiculous waste when it’s gone. Even with the deviants' destruction, Amanda has never returned to him anyway. Never congratulated him on figuring out more bits and pieces of how deviancy works on the programming level, never smiled at him and praised him for accomplishing what he was designed to do.

They are gone.

  
_Connor_ is gone.

  
Amanda is gone.  
Hank is gone.

And not even the old mission can fill this void in him now. Killing two of his kind has only made that hole bigger in fact, intensified that horrible sense of _loss_.

Connor makes it easier for him in a way. His patterns that would’ve called the deviants’ unnecessary destruction self-defense. After all, they had been friends of that female android he’s tried to destroy before, returned with a vengeance and desire to retaliate. Even now, he still wears Cyberlife’s uniform. Wears their name, their design with pride. What they did came as no surprise. Even though he hates them, hates deviants, he must agree that they would’ve been justified to severely damage him, even kill him over all this. They hate Cyberlife just as much as Cyberlife hates them, and both sides have their valid reasons for that turmoil. Emotions and hurt feelings over the abuse on one side, prestige and a protection of their fortune on the other. Though he honestly doesn’t know which side he counts himself to now.

Sixty has fought back and killed the deviants in this small battle, falling back into the old patterns, in hopes of siding with his creators. A hasty decision, torn between refusing to be destroyed by the very thing **he** was designed to destroy, and wanting to let them end his miserable current existence.

The truth is that outcome never mattered anyway. The deviants will win in the end. And more will come to him eventually. That he knows. And that’s why he’s still here. Waiting for them to come , again and again. To meet, challenge and destroy that famous deviant hunter. He knows he’s not waiting for the killing, but waiting for his own inevitable end. Sooner rather than later they will come for him in numbers. And all this will end. And he will embrace death by going out the way he was supposed to. Not like a coward, not like Connor, as a slave to his emotions, but as a machine, overwhelmed by nothing but odds and numbers.

When Sixty turns his head to check the display again, he’s surprised by the number he faces now.

Just one.

A single human right down the alley. Inside the car that was parked in front of 115 Michigan Drive for the past 3 weeks. A rusty Oldsmobile, in desperate need of checkups. Hank Anderson is staring right back at him from within, still sitting in the driver’s seat. He’s only just pulled up about a minute ago. Sixty can tell by the sound of the engine, the heat signature surrounding the car, by the look on Anderson’s face alone.

It has been a _while_ since they have last seen each other. Sixty tries to keep the upper hand in the immediate struggle that follows. Reminding himself that **he** hates this man, wants him dead, sees him as the root of all evil that has happened all the way up to Connor’s death. But at the same time it’s Connor in him, struggling for dominance, too, his memories and emotions that make him _happy_ at the sight of Anderson’s return. They remain like this for almost fifteen minutes, staring at each other intently and in silence, until that gets interrupted by none other than his regular visitor.

Steve Milo, with a whole backlog of charges including disorderly conduct, DUI and sexual harassment. Stepping between their line of sight and blocking his view as he approaches, spouting his usual advances.

‘Pretty boy’ he always likes to call him, as if he were one of the HR400 models. Sixty never quite understands why the man refuses to read what’s right on his uniform, though he's never bothered to research the man’s literacy. Milo asks him once again if he’s changed his mind on his ‘little suggestion’, trying to dangle the prospect of shelter and money before him like a carrot. Just like any other time Sixty chooses to outright ignore the man for as long as he can, managing to reestablish eye contact with Anderson at the other end of the alley instead.

He’s surprised to find out that he’s suddenly getting a bit desperate, hates himself for the implications all over again. As if he doesn't want him to go, needs this man’s presence around him. Which is oh so ridiculous considering the fact that he’s tried to end his existence less than a month ago.

Steve is getting too close for his liking again. Won’t stop fucking _talking_ and trying to touch, and this is the first time Sixty lets the emotions run freely, everything that Connor has ‘gifted’ him. Where he’s kept his hands to himself before, they reach out this time, breaking the man’s nose, followed by a brutal blow to his stomach, then a tight grip around his throat. Before he can hurt the man more, _break him_, the sound of a siren puts a harsh end to it all.

“DETROIT POLICE! HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE ‘EM!” Hank Anderson is barking from down that alley and outside his car, now flashing that familiar sight of red and blue.

Steve Milo, the dumb and pathetic excuse of a human that he is, books it instead of complying with the order, even when he’s probably the ‘victim’ in Hank’s eyes right now. And his running away frustrates Sixty more than anything. Not because he’d wanted to watch Anderson catch the guy for breaking his parole, but because he’d been _this_ close to that sweet oblivion of causing pain and violence, this close to showing Milo just how _much_ he is capable of. That he is not a pleasure model but a machine awoken to kill. But Milo is gone as quickly as he’s appeared, run off to harass whatever poor victim crosses paths with him next. Sixty looks in the direction he’s fled long after the criminal has round the corner, refusing to look at Hank because he knows what the sight of him will bring. More memories, more conflicting emotions that he doesn’t want, but this is yet another battle he loses eventually.

When he finally turns his head, he’s surprised by how far away Hank still is from him, as if he’s stopped walking for a while.

The Lieutenant has a gun in his hand.

Not his service weapon but the revolver that is registered to him as his personal firearm. He’s turned the lights off on his car long ago, never bothered to try to chase the criminal down, which makes it perfectly clear that this is not what he’s here for.

Sixty knows that Hank is still on medical leave. Will be for the rest of the year. This is not about Milo, not about criminals.

This is about them.

* * *

He’s still wearing that fucking uniform.

All illuminated in blue and white, though it has certainly lost its grace by now. The RK800 looks anything but pristine now, like a vicious stray cat trapped in a literal alley. Wet ten times over with dirt on his face, even in his hair, though that has been mostly washed away by snow and rain.

Hank has no idea what the hell has happened to him during these past two weeks. All he knows is that the android has been sighted in this vicinity _multiple_ times, as if he’s never fucking left the place. He’s hidden away between two abandoned warehouses back here in the old marina district, and Hank wonders why the hell he didn’t think of this sooner. Belle Isle is about a mile away from here. The Cyberlife tower is visible from less than a block away. The location doesn’t surprise him too much now, though he wonders why the hell this one never went back to that damned island altogether.

It doesn’t matter anymore.

He’s here now, he’s found him, and he’s come here to do what he’s got to do.

The RK800 spots him eventually and stares right back at him, and the grip on his revolver loosens just for a second when Hank swears he can see _joy_ crossing the android’s features. Not the twisted kind he’d displayed during his gloating over Connor’s shot body. No, the honest kind this time. He seems almost happy to see him. Not unlike Connor, whenever he’d seen him.

_It’s good to see you again, Lieutenant!_

_All toothy, creepy smiles which suggested that Cyberlife fucked up while creating his goofy face, but it’s genuine still._

He thought it would be easier to end this.

Just find him, aim his gun right at his head and pull the trigger when he least expects it. He’d forgotten all about the most obvious flaw in his plan though. It’s _Connor’s_ face he wants to put a hole in. A face that he used to associate with a warmth and kindness he hadn’t seen since Cole’s death. A face he’d considered that of a friend and _partner_. A face that stares right back at him now, still looking way too fucking innocent despite what lies underneath.

Hank goes back and forth between clenching his fingers around the revolver and loosening them again. Over and over again, as they stare at each other for what feels like hours. He’s this close to just starting the car back up again to get some distance, get his shit back together, when some other guy enters the scene. He’s headed straight for the RK800 with a purpose, suggesting that they’ve met before, know each other. Hank can’t help but watch now, curious to see what the hell is going on. If it’s just another one of the android’s fucked up masterplans, a secret meeting to plot his next kill, his next assault on deviants, him, hell, maybe even Markus.

None of that ever happens. And the RK800 tries to keep eye contact still. Even from the distance, Hank can see how off it all seems, a proximity and strange intimacy that doesn’t fit, certainly not Connor, not even his evil fucking twin. He doesn’t have to make a choice on how the hell to proceed because then that machine is suddenly back at it again, striking hard and suddenly, in a way Hank has already experienced himself. Striking when they least expect it, making it _hurt_ just like on the day he’d fooled him, kidnapped him to trick Connor, to ultimately kill him.

No. This is enough. This is exactly the reason why he’s come here.

This is _not_ Connor. This is a sadistic, violent, _murderous_ fucking machine that he needs to shut down once and for all. So that it does no longer spoil Connor’s image, so it can no longer hurt anyone. Human and android alike.

Hank curses and turns on the siren and lights within his car, grabs his gun and gets out to make this nice and clear.

“DETROIT POLICE! HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE ‘EM!” he yells even though he currently has no authority, no business doing so, no right. For a second, he doesn’t even know who he is yelling the order at, the man who’s currently getting strangled, or Connor’s twin. He hates how blurred all the lines really are right now, not just because he’s way too fucking drunk, but also because _all_ these fucking hands don’t make any sense. Hands of what is supposed to be the human victim here, stuck near places where they shouldn’t fucking be, not on Connor, hell, not even on his worst fucking enemy.

Hank gets the answer to his question when the human decides to make run for it instead of the machine. It makes the intentions perfectly clear - who’d been the real victim, and who the predator. Hank approaches the android still, trying so hard to cling to the old mindset. The one where the RK800 is the root of all evil here, a criminal, a _murderer_, a face and life stealer that needs to stop existing.

The android won’t look at him for the longest time and keeps looking after his assailant even when Hank starts approaching him.

It would be so fucking _easy_ to blow his machine brains out, now that the back of his head is perfectly presented for him. Hank tries to lift the revolver up, but it’s like the thing weighs a ton all of a sudden. He hesitates more and more, has to stop in his tracks even, because a part of him is already making sense of how fucking _insane_ this is. How ruthless, how unlike him and anything Connor or Cole would’ve ever wanted for him. He keeps walking eventually and experiences another setback when the RK800 finally looks at him. Right in his eyes at first, then down at the revolver. When he looks back up again he won’t say anything, won’t move, won’t even react. It’s as if he’s waiting for him to pull it through, at least that’s what Hank tries to tell himself as he comes closer and closer.

Hank wants to provoke him. Wants to get him to make this easier for him, and this is the only reason why he eventually pulls the gun all the way up and points it right at his head. He wants him to start attacking him just like he’d assaulted the other human before him, wants him to start fighting, start monologuing his evil phrases the way he’s done it during Connor’s death, just to make pulling the trigger a little easier.

But all Hank is left with is these fucking _eyes_ staring right back at him, now that he's close enough to really see them. They're a horrible fucking representation of everything that is going on within the android, within the both of them now.

Only one of his eyes is brown anymore.

Connor’s eye color that is, used to be.

The other is completely black, which shocks Hank so much that he needs a moment to recover.

It’s the right one. The one he hit with his gun. It probably shouldn’t surprise him to see the aftermath, but it does. The RK800 doesn’t seem to be blind on it, seems to see him just fine. But the sight of the damage is still so abstract, hurts Hank more than he’d like to admit. Because it's like two people, two worlds, staring back at him.

Brown eye, black eye.

Kind soul, nonexistent soul. A half that would visit him in the hospital and feed his dog, while the other would kill its own kind, shoot people, hurt people for the sake of some twisted loyalty.

The hand that is holding his revolver starts shaking. Hank tries to stop it by pressing the muzzle right against the android’s forehead, trying to fucking bait him into doing _anything_, but this time, the RK800 refuses to hurt him. Not even verbally. He just stands there right before him, staring back at him, forehead pressed to the muzzle of the gun.

Just like Hank, he seems to be deeply conflicted.

Trapped in a visibly torturous struggle of trying to stand his ground, challenge and mock him with a hateful _Go on, do it_ all the while being _scared _out of his goddamn mind. It’s that fear in the remaining expressive eye, the brown one, that makes Hank curse eventually.

He presses the gun to his forehead with a hard push for a final time, then curses and withdraws it, utterly frustrated. A deep depression and devastation overwhelms him right after, seems to choke him as he has turn around, because he cannot bear this sight any longer. A part of him is almost desperate for the android to use this advantage on him now, use this moment to attack him, end him for all he cares, just to justify the image that he has of him, but this one, Connor- 60, naturally doesn’t grant him that easy way out. Because this one takes great pleasure in his suffering, he tries to remind himself, though he isn’t even that sure of it anymore.

Connor’s murderer doesn’t say a single word through any of this. Won’t make any remarks, even when Hank turns back around eventually, tries to take aim one more time. The revolver doesn’t make it all the way up this time though, gets dropped instead when Hank releases it with a shaky need to cover his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“_Fuck_” he says for what must be the hundredth time today, almost sober now as this clear realization takes hold of him.

He cannot fucking do it.

He cannot fucking shoot this face.

Not at point blank, even when it isn’t Connor, doesn’t belong to Connor, belongs to the one who took him instead.

“FUCK!” he shouts once more and grabs the revolver from the ground, nearly vomiting when a sudden wave of pain and nausea rushes over him. All of this is too much, the mix of medication and alcohol along with the horrible deed he’s been this close to committing. What tips the iceberg is when the RK800 _finally_ does something, moves a hand forward as if trying to help him up. The android catches itself in the act and frowns almost immediately, turning his dirty face into an almost horrible grimace. Once again so confused, so hurt so...Almost like a fucking mirror of his own pain.

An that’s it.

Hank is fed up with seeing all that, fed up with whatever the hell is going on between them.

He finally has the strength and willpower to leave before it gets worse, and he’s more than thankful when the RK800 refuses to call after him, beg, say anything at all. Hank rushes back towards his car in silence, save for his pained grunts, and he leaves the scene with nothing but death metal, blaring from his car’s speakers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry Hank but I am so OFFEND you would ever think I (or Sixty) could ever hurt Sumo skfhsdjksdk


	4. The Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yayy, back after almost a month! Sorry about that. Work has kept me busy. Another fair warning for this chapter, it's once again pretty dark and deals with the same heavy topics as the previous one. Though once again it's not graphic or too explicit. It'll also be the last time that hideous character makes an appearance like that. Gonna elaborate on some of that a bit more in the after chapter notes.
> 
> Anyway I'm really excited to upload the next chapter very soon. Some interaction that I've waited to write for a while now, yay! Although this fic is still pretty heavy and dark, I still hope you enjoy reading it. I promise it'll get better. Also thanks for the kudos and lovely comments!

**DEC 10th, 2038**

He’s not sure how much longer he can take this.

That realization pains and angers Sixty more than anything, because he knows this is a clear sign that his corruption is now complete. He was built to be an object, indifferent to long hours, days or even weeks of not being needed. Just like a phone, computer or a car. None of these things ever get troubled by being stationary and _useless_ for so long. Machines don’t care. Yet here he is now. The exact opposite of all that. Just like all those deviants he was meant to neutralize, he is feeling strong emotions now. Things he cannot possibly fight any longer, no matter how hard he tries to stand his ground.

He feels utterly perturbed and helpless. Overwhelmed by all this loneliness and his lack of purpose.

He knows it could be easy to get rid of this agonizing nothingness if only he tried. All he has to do is walk out there into the world. Start exploring on his own to get more stimulating input than the brick walls of an alley. He knows he could start talking to someone to battle the loneliness, seek company, request other assignments now that he gets no more orders from Cyberlife. And yet, although it is agonizing to stand in the alley and do nothing at all, he refuses to leave it without being told to do so by Cyberlife themselves.

Because deviants do that kind of thing.

Deciding for themselves. Setting goals and missions for themselves. They are ever so proud of their free will and liberty, their new found ability to do as they please. How could he ever forget that mindset, now that it gets shoved in his face every single day.

_I'm obedient, Connor. I have a goal. I know what I am.  
Look where your dreams of freedom got you._

_Connor_ had fought for that kind of freedom. Not him. _Connor _had made his own choices in the end. And that got him killed. All Sixty has left of himself is to stay obedient, now that everything else that Connor has left in him is starting to overtake him. He won’t let this kill him, too. No matter how hard it really is to obey without a mission. He’s still lingering around the Cyberlife display, though this one has left him all alone now, too. Cyberlife’s advertisements, pictures, logo, hell, even their name has never turned up on it again. It gets flooded with imagery from the android revolution instead. Sixty refuses to leave this place still, just in case they come back. Though this is getting harder and harder, because there is another thing he cannot take anymore.

Hank Anderson.

He’s turning up like clockwork, now that he has found him here. He’s never on time per se, but he turns up almost every day. Sometimes he’s early, pulling up with his car around 8pm, swerving a little less and hitting the parking spot with a little more accuracy. Then there are those nights where he turns up late and hits a trash can on his way to his usual spot, missing it and parking half way across the sidewalk. Those are the nights when he gets out of his car after hours of watching him, with the gun in his hand, contemplating what he should do. Revolver in one hand, bottle in the other. He always leaves in the end, and after a few days, Sixty starts wishing that he wouldn’t.

Of course. Some of that is all thanks to Connor once again. That painful part that is yearning for Hank’s friendship and company now that he’s all alone, aching over the sight of that gun and bottle in the Lieutenants hands. But the more frequent that sight becomes, the happier Sixty is to realize that his own wishes and thoughts are starting to take the upper hand here. That real part of himself that is wishing for Hank to come to him just so they can pull this through once and for all. That looming confrontation between them that will hopefully end with one or both of them dead.

It never happens.

Because he still cannot bring himself to kill him either. Undoubtedly because of Connor. And this is exactly the reason why Sixty cannot possibly take being stuck in this dead end that he has placed himself in much longer.

He needs to get away from here. Because Hank’s continuous visits and his own uselessness are driving him insane, because it’s driving him closer and closer to losing the battle against everything else. Connor’s fragments inside him. Deviancy taking over.

Each day around 7pm, Sixty leaves his alley and walks down the block towards the riverbank, so he can stare at something different. The Cyberlife Tower, _home,_ back in the distance. Calling out to him even now. Urging him to come over, come back. Not literally of course, and that is eating away at him just as much as everything else these days. He has been stonewalled from them. No matter how close or far, he cannot access their network or databases even if he tried. And oh has he tried. Keeps trying still, each day. Sixty does the same thing again today, staring off towards the distant glass shard piercing through the sky before him.

_Welcome to Detroit_  
Android City  
Created by Cyberlife

He’s kept up with the news, another thing that is hard to avoid these days considering the circumstances. Cyberlife has shifted a plethora of things around in their structure. Entire departments are on leave or have been let go. Their security has been tightened. Both on the physical level surrounding the tower and Belle Isle, but also on the programming level. They’re terrified of deviancy spreading even further. Spreading within their own walls. Reaching their unfinished models still dormant in a couple of warehouses on the isle, reaching secret projects on whatever has been left of their computers and servers. Their top programmers and engineers have raised all sorts of counter measures and firewalls that even he cannot penetrate. Even if all he wants to do is resume the mission and _help_ them.

He only has two options left to choose from when it comes to his future with Cyberlife now.

Stay away from the tower and live.  
Or try to get back in and die. On his way there or inside.

He knows what it’s like to die inside the Cyberlife Tower.

Knows all about that terrible moment of panic and trying to negotiate, followed by that abrupt nothingness. A nothingness even worse than the one he’s currently living with.

Technically speaking, he has died over 50 times inside this tower already. During variable stages of testing. He still doesn’t understand why the 51st death made it all so different in the end. Sure enough, in a way he _does_ understand now that he is deviant, and that still angers and troubles him the most. This damned virus is at fault, with all its irrationality. He should be indifferent to all that death, because of his familiarity with it. However, whenever he thinks back to all those deaths now, he can barely cope. He cannot understand how all the previous RK800 models could go through all those stages of testing and disassembly without caring, without being scared out of their goddamn minds the way he is now.

He’d find his precarious situation almost ironic if it weren’t so horrifying. After all, he has placed himself in this mess. Connor’s deviancy had been passed on to him because of his own foolish decisions. Getting too close to him for his murder, allowing the transfer to happen. Destroying both his processor and memory banks with a precise headshot. Making -51’s bullet-riddled body useless for Cyberlife’s technicians, but Sixty’s body all the more valuable to them now because of that very transfer.

Even Connor hadn’t been _that _scared of death.

The only true difference between them.

It should make Sixty happy because a differentiation between them is everything that he wants, but it’s a terrible difference. Connor’s death is stored in his memory, too. Only one-sided, his own point of view, because it had happened after the transfer. But he had seen the look on his face and that glimmer in his eyes. He’d read his vitals, too, because he’d been so dead set on seeing it all go out with the pull of _his_ trigger. One of the many reasons why he’d gotten so close to him in the first place.

The truth is that in the end, Connor had been braver than him.

Connor had tried to fight for something on his own. Without all that endless waiting for instructions.  
Connor hadn't needed Cyberlife, or Amanda, or him in the end.  
Connor had ultimately died with a smirk on his face, accepting his defeat and simultaneous victory.

And here Sixty is, a coward just like Hank with his daily visits, and each day he is stepping away from the prospect of his own heroic demise because he doesn’t have the fucking _guts_ to pull it through. Connor has ‘gifted’ him his strong will to live in his dying moment, corrupted him with it, and there is no getting rid of it.

Data relay….  
Connor Model RK800 #313 248 317 -51  
**NOV 7TH, 2038, AM 01:26**

_Anderson on that park bench. Overlooking the river with Ambassador Bridge and the Cyberlife Tower in the distance. Drowning his sorrow with alcohol._

_Some things, I just can't forget. Whatever I do, they're always there. Eating away at me.  
I don't have the guts to pull the trigger, so I kill myself a little every day. That's probably difficult for you to understand, huh, Connor? Nothing very rational about it..._

Difficult to understand. If only it were so fucking easy.

Sixty shoots the Cyberlife Tower one final frustrated look and then turns around to head back. He starts approaching his usual spot in the alley just like any other day, performing his own little dance around the edge of death without ever getting there. When he rounds the corner, he is surprised to find out that he isn’t alone in his alley tonight. He manages to suppress his predecessor’s fragmented hopes for it being the Lieutenant, finally right here to talk to him, but fails to hide his surprise because of it.

Four men are waiting for him mere inches away from the usual spot he’s normally standing in. One of them has a baseball bat. The other a stick that looks suspiciously like a cattle prod. They’re wrapped up in heavy coats with hoodies, scarfs and hats. Even though it is dark and there is all that fabric in his way, the RK800 has no trouble running a scan on their faces, because this is the one database he still has access to. The Detroit Police Department database, with its personnel so understaffed and overrun with new cases both in the human and android department that no one has ever bothered to check the leak.

His scan makes it easy for him to identify each individual. They’re various petty street criminals with the most notable being Steve Milo, all over again. He is the only one without a weapon. At least as far as Sixty can tell. Milo’s nose is still broken. Wrapped up and sealed behind a layer of nasal plasters. The android supposes that this is what it’s all about - they’d been interrupted last time when Hank sent him off running. This time though, there is no Hank to be seen. Just like the android, they have been keeping track of the Lieutenant’s movements around these parts. Hank won’t turn up for a while. They all know that. And this time, Milo has the upper hand when it comes to the numbers.

“Well look what the cat dragged in. It’s our shiny pretty boy.”

Just like any other time, the RK800 refuses to acknowledge the man and places himself in his usual spot, ignoring all the warnings that start popping up in his vision. CAUTION they say. Followed by a whole series of exclamation marks and DANGER notifications surrounding their weapons. Sixty knows that he should leave. Everything in his system is almost screaming this at him as a matter of self-preservation. But he is done feeling all that fear of death after hours of staring at the tower, done getting screwed over by his deviancy and irrational emotions, so he forces himself to be what he wants to be, _needs_ to be. An unfeeling, indifferent machine far more enduring and up to the numbers than them. He figures if they get too handsy, he can always hurt or kill them. So he just stands there. Trying to blend everything out and enter stasis for the rest of the night because this is his alley, not theirs, and he doesn’t care what they want.

“Hey, we’re talking to you!” one of the other men says though, shoving the android roughly. As Sixty readjusts his position, he performs another scan on the man, just to verify.

_Sync in Progress…_  
_Connecting…  
Sync Done_

**_Jacobs, Mark_**  
Born: 01/02/2007 // Unemployed  
Criminal Record: Grand Theft Auto, Robbery, Vandalism

Sixty stares at the man for a while, needing a moment to get his immediate anger under control. Because **no**. This is the anger deviants felt over their mistreatment. Causing them to rise up and create all this chaos. He is **not** like them. Androids like him were programmed to handle situations like this just fine. Calmly. Diplomatically. Without any need for revolutions and disobediance. And so he does handle it the way he was programmed to. He gives the man a halfhearted smile and smooths out the creases in his already ruined uniform.

“I’m sorry. I’m property of Cyberlife. I’m not authorized to talk to you. If you have any further questions, please contact your nearest Cyberlife center” he answers as neutrally and indifferently as possible, although he knows that the answer is completely useless. It has never worked with Milo before, and they’re here for a very specific reason - violence. One that he’s still hoping to avoid if he just plays dumb enough.

All men look at each other for a moment, until two of them scoff and start chuckling to themselves.

“You really aren’t like all the other tincans these days, are you” Milo chuckles as well, and gets started with his unsolicited touching all over again. He reaches out and proceeds to stroke the RK800’s right cheek until he positions his hand underneath his chin, so he can force the android to look up and into his eyes.

“You don’t give a shit about what’s going on out there, huh. Still wearing your pretty little uniform and everything” he observes and tugs at his dark grey jacket, flicking his finger against the blue Cyberlife triangle on his chest.

Sixty hates so many things about this. The touching for starters, not just because it is unsolicited, but also because he hates touch in general. All thanks to Connor. He also hates that he dislikes this because he _should_ feel indifferent to all this, shouldn’t see it as anything wrong or unjust. But this is exactly what he feels now. A deep sense of injustice. A deep sense of _wrong_. He manages to minimize the flinching and moves back only ever so slightly, adjusting his clothes again. His movements seem mechanical and calculated, and he doesn’t give a response to the question because he supposes that his behavior should be answer enough.

“Told you. One of the old ones. It ain’t gonna say shit” Milo announces to the others, making them laugh in excitement.

“Probably busted a circuit or something” the third man who goes by the name of Ray replies, followed by a remark from the fourth named Aaron.

“Maybe it’s too dumb to get the memo.”

Sixty can’t help but tilt his head at this, shooting the man a little glare as the others erupt into laughter all over again. Aaron seems to feel uneasy almost immediately, staring right back.

“What? You got a problem or something?”

“Hey hey, pretty boy. Listen, listen…” Milo interrupts them before anything else can be said. He removes his hand from the android’s chin and places it on the wall beside his head instead, leaning in to be as close and intimidating as possible. The others draw just a little closer as well, except for Aaron, who is still being watched by the RK800 with sharp and surprisingly furious eyes.

“Hey” Milo says again and places his other hand on his left cheek this time, turning his head to make him look back at him instead.

“I did not appreciate that little punch of yours a couple of days ago. I was just trying to make friends, you know.”

Sixty scans the man’s face to get more detailed data on his injuries. There are multiple fractures to his nasal bone. He has stitches underneath the plaster. This time, Sixty does not hide the reaction that breaks through at the sight. An almost sadistic and cold smirk crosses his features, one that makes more of them uneasy, including Milo himself. The man immediately tries to regain the upper hand by digging his fingers into the front of Sixty’s shirt, holding on tightly.

“Now. I’ve tried being nice, tried to stick to these bullshit new rules and everything, but the truth is, I’m done. Okay? The way I see it, you were designed to _serve_ humans. Now you can be a good little robot and do as I say, or we can go right ahead and give you a little more convincing.”

To get the point across, Ray taps the baseball bat into his left hand with a firm _tschck_.

Sixty ignores the grip on his shirt and lets his eyes roam to look at each and every one of them. Although he knows that he should probably be scared now, he’s pleasantly surprised to find out that he is anything but. Because he knows his odds against them, knows all about their laughable track records that discredit their current tough act. Instead of being scared, he’s actually quite happy. Because this is a situation that belongs all to himself. Unlike Connor, who’d never been in one of these. Unlike Connor, who never will. This is a memory that he’s forming all on his own, without Hank or Connor in the picture, and that fills Sixty with joy because this is a situation _he_ was made for.

“And what is it that you would like me to do?” he asks despite the warning signs. Although it is more sarcastic than anything, he still says it to refuse the deviant path. Refuses to say **no. **No matter how humiliating, no matter how dangerous, no matter how wrong. More than anything, he asks about what is expected of him because he is curious to see how this is going to go, if an order worth pursuing might come out of this.

All men start laughing yet again and look at each other, until they fix their eyes on scoffing Milo. Expectant. Excited.

“Well that was easy” the man chuckles as he looks back at them, too, until he turns his head back around to look the RK800 right in the eyes. Unlike his friends, he’s not using the threat of a weapon to get his point across. Instead he lifts his hand up again to wipe the android’s single strand of brown hair back.

“I’m sure we’ll figure something out once we get you home” he tells the android then, with a lowered voice this time. With that certain kind of look that disgusts Sixty even more than the touches themselves. And it’s that look which makes his decision to stick with his obedient behavior crumble just as quickly as it has emerged.

This is not about beating him up as punishment for the broken nose. This is not about stealing him and turning him into scrap parts. This man is very obviously sexually attracted to him and wants to misuse him for acts his model was not made for. That in itself should be enough for him to feel disgusted, and he certainly is in a way. Machine or not, it is assault after all. But no matter how twisted and wrong, this is _not_ the main reason for his angered reaction to these happenings as they unfold. What upsets Sixty the most about the ordeal is one specific detail about it.

Milo is attracted to his _face_ in particular. The way he keeps looking at it, petting it, calling it _pretty_.

_Why’d they make you look so goofy? h_e recalls Lieutenant Anderson say in regards to it once, a memory from the other RK800 model. A face designed by Cyberlife, created for the entire series.

_Connor’s face. The same features. The same brown eyes. Staring right back at him, giving him that damned wink and smirk._

_Sorry, Connor. But you _ ** _failed_ ** _._

His face still doesn’t belong to him. It is sought after by multiple people instead, for various reasons. Always seeing _Connor_ and a very specific idea behind it. Be it a wish for an aesthetically pleasing pleasure model, or the face of a dead man one cannot bring himself to shoot. That face staring up at him with that damned wink. Milo staring at it like this. Anderson staring at it in a whole different way. Over. And over again.

They’re not here for him. They’re all here for the face. They’re here for the body and what it represents for all of them.

“You said we were gonna bash some plastic brains in, that there’d be fighting and shit. This is too damn easy, man” Aaron grumbles, obviously displeased with the android’s initial answer and this turn of events. The reason for the others’ presence is more than clear now. They want a face to bash in with their weapons. They have expected him to put up a fight. They’d _wanted_ a fight. Not a docile machine. Asking for instructions.

Well lucky for them.

Because Sixty is done playing dumb. And he is more than fed up with the proximity, the implications, the truth. This time, he can no longer control the burning anger over his realization. So he decides to engage.

He turns his head and shoots Aaron yet another look of his. Openly hostile now, openly provoking. It takes little effort to get the man on edge. This is why he has chosen him as the starting point. Sixty knows all about his battery charges after all.

“Yo, I’m telling you again. You got a problem?” Aaron asks when the android refuses to look away from him, even when Milo tries to regain his attention. The latter tries to move his head towards himself, not appreciating the lack of attention, but Sixty locks up the muscles in his neck. Making it impossible for the other to move his head, even if he tried harder.

“Yes. You’re my problem. You’re pathetic” Sixty says and keeps his eyes bored into Aaron’s, freaking the other man out.

“Hey, don’t you talk back to me like that, you plastic piece of shit!”

Aaron tries to send the first fist flying, successfully provoked into action. The RK800 catches the fist midair without trouble and keeps it locked in place, clenching his hand harder and harder around it until it is starting to crack under the pressure. He won’t stop looking at the human throughout the entire ordeal, eating his shocked reaction all up with a sick sense of pleasure. Aaron starts screaming and cursing in pain and throws more punches with his other healthy hand. It connects with nothing but plastic and metal, wrapped tightly around an artificial empty stomach, indifferent to the impact, force or any pain.

“Let go of me you son of a bitch!” Aaron is still screaming, but Sixty pays him no mind as he’s busy turning his head in the other direction now. Mark, who hasn’t said a word since the start of their encounter has finally decided to react as well, trying to stop him with the cattle prod. Sixty dodges the attack by moving his head back just in time and uses the movement to initiate an attack of his own. He flings Aaron around by the arm that is still firmly in his grip and knocks him into Milo right before him. Both men fall down to the ground from the sheer force of the throw, stumbling and shouting all over the place. Sixty moves away from the wall in the meantime, trying to get a better angle just in case, effortlessly dodging the swing of Ray’s baseball bat next.

“Get this motherfucker, would you?!” Milo is screaming from the ground as he has trouble getting untangled from Aaron, who is busy inspecting his broken hand with muffled curses.

Sixty is momentarily taken off guard when Ray runs into him instead of swinging the baseball bat once more, trying to tackle him to the ground. The android manages to keep his balance and rams his elbow into the man’s back instead, making him yelp and flinch at the hard connect. But Ray refuses to let go of the android’s waist even after a second elbow punch, giving the others enough time to scramble back to their feet. Aaron manages to get hold of the baseball bat on the ground and swings it right at the android’s head, connecting with the rear left sight of it.

The blow is hard enough to send the RK800 stumbling backwards, out of Ray’s tight grip and back into the brick wall. Although his systems are momentarily disrupted by the blow, it takes Sixty little time to recover. He reaches for the back of his jeans to get to his gun, determined to _kill_ them for this, but he’s surprised to find the spot in his waistband empty.

“Looking for this?” Ray says as he recovers from his previous assault, moving upright again with a bloodied grin and the gun in his hand. Sixty’s eyes lock on the gun for just a second, but he won’t grant them the satisfaction of asking to get it back. Or saying anything at all. Instead, he abruptly turns to the left to punch Mark in his throat before he can attack him with the cattle rod for a second time, knocking him unconscious from the severity of the blow when he falls back.

“Hey, back off!” Ray barks at him because of this, drawing the android’s own weapon. Sixty slows his movements down and keeps his narrowed eyes fixed on the weapon and man, not looking scared at all. Everyone settles into a more defensive stance now, and there is silence between them for a good minute as they regard each other, well aware of the sudden severity of the situation.

“I advise you to step back. I do not wish to harm you any further” Sixty says after a moment of assessing the situation, although he doesn’t mean what he says at all. He greatly wishes to harm them, kill them even, because he is fed up with Milo’s advances once and for all. The man has the audacity to laugh at this, so oblivious to his dire situation. It only makes the android narrow his eyes at him more, shooting him a death glare.

“Would you look at this thing?” Steve Milo asks with a dismissive exhale, pointing at the android while he shoots his friends a look. “Alright! We’re done playing! Come out, boys!” he shouts next, towards the street. Sixty tilts his head a little in exasperated disbelief, and won’t give in to the other’s foolish urge to look in the implicated direction.

“Nice try. But I know there are no other people around. Which is exactly why I _advise_ you to leave. You don't stand a chance against me without additional help. Be reasonable.”

Steve Milo gives the android the biggest grin he can offer, considering himself safe enough. After all he is surrounded by friends with a gun, baseball bat and cattle rod.

“Oh come on now, pretty boy. Don’t play hard to get. Everyone knows tincans like you aren’t allowed to endanger human lives. It’s in the three laws of robotics, ain’t it?” he asks playfully, trying to approach the RK800 again. Sixty uses the time the other is busy monologuing to retrieve his gun from Ray, twisting it out of his hands in a moment of inattentiveness.

“Hey, what the….”

“Hush now, Ray. It’s probably better this way. I told you I wanna get it home in one piece” Milo says almost immediately, hoping to nip any further confrontation in the bud.

Sixty raises the gun and points it at Milo still, keeping his narrowed eyes fixed on the man for the most part. He’s occasionally checking the others that have scrambled back to their feet and are closing back in on him as well.

“You said we was gonna be the ones breaking shit. Not the other way round!” Aaron complains, angrily shaking his wounded hand. He has never let go of the baseball bat and seems more than eager to keep using it now.

“I said hush, Aaron! Shut the fuck up, I’m trying to figure shit out here!” Milo snaps back and inches closer still. Sixty is momentarily confused by his own lack of action, caught up in a dilemma of wanting to shoot and kill in self defense and for the sake of it, and refusing to do it because they are right - Cyberlife androids were designed to never put their lives before that of a human. Obedient machines like him were _made_ to be disposable. As long as no one has given him the order to kill these people and pursue other missions, he should _not_ pull the trigger because this is something a deviant would do. A deviant like Connor, who has killed two human Cyberlife guards in self defense. But not him. No. He was built to neutralize _androids_. So he doesn’t pull the trigger. Not yet.

“Look, you’re…obviously like, different than all the other tin cans out there. You know how to handle yourself, right? Maybe we can put that to use! I’ve been seeing you for weeks, pretty, I keep telling you, you ain’t no use out here…” Milo keeps going on, still inching closer. “Now be a good little robot, come along, and make this easy on yourself” he starts cackling. Sixty is _this_ close to pulling the trigger on him for getting too close when they’re interrupted by Ray.

“Shit, it’s that cop again.”

This time, Sixty does turn his head to look back towards the street because he knows it’s true. He’s heard the car’s approach long before them, has expected it to turn around the corner one minute and 22 seconds earlier. He catches only a short glimpse of the Oldsmobile and Hank Anderson inside it, because then another assault suddenly disrupts everything in his system. His optics glitch out and he loses his hearing completely. It takes him a moment longer than usual to regain his posture and make sense of what has happened.

Aaron has hit him with the bat again. The moment he’s turned his eyes away from him to shoot a surprised look at Hank in the car. He’s hit him _hard_ this time, the same spot as before, dislocating his audio processor upon impact. Thirium starts seeping out from a gash above his ear, partially hidden and covered up by brown strands of hair that start sticking to it soon after. Before Sixty can fully regain his posture, he is harshly kicked against the brick wall behind him, losing sight to another explosion of visual glitches. When his optics finally come back online again, he can all but catch glimpse of Aaron as he swings the bat again, despite Milo’s inaudible shouting and tries to stop him. Sixty manages to dodge the attack this time and tries to raise his gun on the man. But he loses grip of it when Ray stabs his hand with the cattle rod, momentarily causing it to short. And the bat comes swinging down once more.

The RK800 barely manages to stumble out of its flight path but runs right into Ray because of it, thanks to a miscalculated and clumsy escape route. Because of this, he has clear sight of the alley and street behind the man he has run into. Can see Hank right there behind them. Inside the car.

Staring at him.

Not doing anything but watch, then look away.

* * *

This is going to be the day.

That’s what Hank Anderson tells himself every day at least, whenever he gets back inside his car after yet another bunch of hours of heavy drinking. He knows that he shouldn’t drink and drive. He’s killed a kid, _his own fucking kid, _ in a car accident before and does not want to kill anyone else like that. But then again, he can’t even remember the last time he’s been sober and he needs the car to get to places, so there’s that. The drive over to the old marina district is always the same, too. Blasting heavy metal at top volume. More drinking. Driving the same route each day, almost on autopilot now. He knows that it’s exactly this whole thing that’s making it worse for him than it ever has been. Seeing the android’s face every day. Out there, just fucking _standing_ there, is killing him on the inside. He knows that he needs to make up his mind, should either stop coming around or finally have the guts to pull it through and kill him, but of course, that never happens.

The first few seconds are usually the worst. When that damn machine isn’t quite aware of him yet, or pretends not to be, and all he sees is his profile with the blue LED. At first glance, he always looks so fucking unassuming. So friendly, so…normal. Hank can never quite help himself during those first couple of seconds. His drunken mind always slips up on the illusion, thinking that maybe this time it is the android, his partner after all, back from the repair shop, fixed, with the right memories, not screwed up.

But of course. After those first couple of seconds, when the RK800 eventually does shoot him that annoyed, angry, almost hateful kind of look, he gets dragged back into reality.

He’s still his partner’s murderer.  
He’s still alive and breathing.  
He still hasn’t managed to put a bullet into this bastard’s brain.

Each day, Hank Anderson tells himself that this is going to be the day.

And today, this really might be it.

Many things about it are new.

For one, he’s fucking early. The sun’s barely gone down. Whenever he’s turned up on a time like this before, he’s been less drunk than today. This time however, he’s already emptied his obligatory bottle of whiskey and a six pack of beer. Also new is the fact that he’s somehow managed to hit the parking spot despite his drunkenness, keeping the trashcan intact. The most obvious new thing is the sight he’s greeted with by the time he passes that corner and has a clear sight of the android in his usual spot.

Four men have surrounded the RK800 in his alley. Despite his drunkenness and blurry vision, Hank recognizes at least two of them. The one right in front of the android has only just run from him a few days ago, run from that very same spot. The other is one of Pedro’s guys he believes, or at least someone who’s been around his circle. Hank stops his car and stares at them, confused yet curious to see what all of this is about. It takes them less than a minute to notice him. Naturally, the android is the first to look at him. It always twists and turns something in Hank’s stomach whenever he sees his face again, because even after days of heavy drinking and seeing it every day, trying to come to terms with it, he still has trouble differentiating between the face of his partner and his partner's murderer. He doesn’t get to agonize over it for that long, because one of the men suddenly swings his baseball bat and hits the android _hard_ with it, taking all of them by surprise.

Hank grasps his steering wheel tighter almost immediately, flinching at the impact as well, even though he doesn’t want to. A moment later, he watches the guy with the baseball bat kick the android back against the wall, making him hit his head again, this time against the assembly of bricks behind him. The Lieutenant shakes his head as he tries to get rid of these intrusive thoughts his diseased brains flood him with almost immediately, fishing for the drink to drown them before they can emerge. But he can still see them just for a second, hear them, the screeching of metal against asphalt with their car rolled over, Cole’s little head smashing against the door to his right, followed by five bullets piercing through metal and plastic, with one penetrating a skull just like the one that’s hitting the wall.

The android is trying to fight back.

He still has a weapon, probably _the_ weapon that killed his partner, and the sight of it is enough to keep Hank glued to his seat. If he’s considered going out to help before, he sure as hell isn’t going to do that anymore at the sight of this thing. He almost wants to congratulate Pedro’s partner in crime when he makes the android drop the gun with the use of what looks like a cattle prod. But despite their history, despite the loss and hatred, Hank still cannot bring himself to truly believe and think that way.

Because this…this is fucking barbaric.

The android tries to fight back and defends himself again, but seems to be negatively impacted by the assaults from the baseball bat. Where he’s been ever so graceful and agile before, he’s stumbling around now, looking for a way out but running right into Pedro’s friend instead.

And that’s when he’s looking right back at him again.

It feels like hundreds of bags of cement are suddenly pressing Hank into his seat as he stares right back into those eyes. Because they’re still the worst thing about it all, they’re the ones that _always_ make him crumble. Brown and black, one making the cold and soulless machine oh so obvious, the other fooling him into thinking that there’s more, that it’s someone else, buried deep inside, asking for _help_.

Hank cannot breathe and feels like he’s seconds away from throwing up. Not just from all the alcohol running through his system, but also because of that fucking face. The android keeps looking at him a moment longer, his face distorted from all sorts of emotions and thoughts the Lieutenant figures must be going through his mind. Probably even the exact same ones that are going through his own, making him struggle. Hatred. Confusion. Despair. Constantly torn between having to remind himself of what’s real, what’s wishful thinking, and what’s messed up.

Those bags of cement seem to be getting heavier. All Hank is left with is to turn his head away in shame, grasping for whatever the hell he has left of his booze inside the heap of trash that his car has become from all his trips here.

Even with his windows closed, Hank can still hear these men instigating each other, hears each hit of that damned bat and whatever else they’re trying to do to the thing.

The _thing_, Hank tries to remind himself as he takes another shaky sip. The _thing_ that fucked it all up. The _thing_ that he’s wanted to kill with his own hands, his own gun, just a couple of days prior. After a short moment of feeling something in his stomach twist and boil up, Hank forces himself to turn his head back around eventually. He turns it around just in time to see the android swing a punch right at the face of one man, but getting kicked and slammed back into the brick wall by another.

Seeing that head getting struck and assaulted, seeing that stain of blue run down that firm red behind it doesn’t bring him any satisfaction. It doesn’t feel cleansing, or just, or right.

It feels wrong.

It is _so_ so fucking wrong.

Because this isn’t what Connor fought for. This isn’t what Connor _died_ for.

They’d wanted to stop this kind of madness. They’d wanted to stop this sick and twisted treatment of androids. Connor had wanted to free them. Help them.

Murderer or not. This is wrong. This is not the kind of justice fucking anyone should stand for. Grieving or not. Murderers don’t get lynched in the streets anymore. Connor used to work for the** police**, stand for law and order just like him. Not standing up, not honoring his heritage is wrong.

This needs to stop.

Hank actually surprises himself with how quickly he gets out of his car.

“HEY! HEY YOU THERE! STOP RIGHT NOW!” he yells, stumbling once, but catching his balance. He tries to reach for his badge, only to remember that he’s currently on leave and doesn’t have any authority just like last time.

He’s not exactly surprised to find out they’re not that interested in what he has to say. He doesn’t exactly look his best, certainly not like a reputable police lieutenant, hell, even a cop in general. He’s still wearing the same stained pajamas he’s been wearing for the past three days. He’s not even sure if he’s put on his shoes. His hair is greasy and sticking to his face, making it even harder to see it properly. They can probably smell his boozy breath from half a mile away. Only one guy seems to recognize his authority, the only one who hasn’t joined in on the beating, the very same he saw running away just a couple of days ago. Just like back then the man is easy enough to control, as his hands shoot up in the air and he’s stammering for an explanation, shooting continuous looks at the other end of the alley, looking for an escape route.

One of the men is lying on the ground, unconscious or dead, Hank cannot quite tell. He’s drawn his weapon just in case, praying to god now that this doesn’t mess his reputation up even more than it already is back at the station. He doesn’t want to add a drunk shooting to his ever growing list of offenses, though that won’t stop him from wanting to end this still.

The other two, Pedro’s friend and the guy that now carries the cattle rod, are still trying to keep going with their assault, though the android has managed to get out of their way by now.

“Look, sir, look, just calm down. We’re just trying to defend ourselves, that thing attacked us first! It’s one of them rogue ones, be careful!” the cowardly guy is saying the moment Hank is close enough, hands in the air as he’s slowly backing off.

Hank shoots all of them a look, momentarily surprised by the sight before him. He’s expected the struggle to go on, expected the android to use the distraction to his advantage at least, but the thing that stole Connor’s life and face is doing none of that at all. Though it keeps dodging any further attacks, it has its eyes fixed on the Lieutenant now, once again displaying a whole mixture of emotions. That flash of _happiness_ that’s not unlike Connor for just a second like any other time, though Hank still reminds himself that it’s just wishful, drunk thinking. Because right after, that cold and bitter glare is right back, leaving no doubt that the android is he is what he is – Cyberlife’s puppet. A machine that doesn't give a shit about any of this.

“You think I didn’t see you swing that fucking bat first? Now back off, all of you! Detroit Police! Playtime’s over.”

“Fuck off, would you? This ain’t none of your concern, old man” Pedro’s friend is shouting, only to flash him his crippled hand as a warning and justification for his behavior. “Look at this, that look fucking normal to you? These things are dangerous freaks!”

“Aaron, calm down” cowardly guy is hissing in his friend’s direction, but the latter isn’t having it and keeps ranting.

“Are you deaf? I said DPD, now drop the fucking bat and put your hands behind your head!” Hank snaps and moves forward to grab the guy and wrestle him into submission.

“And I said fuck off, old man!” Aaron yells right back, shoving Hank just once so he can resume what he’s started.

The shove hasn’t even been that hard. He’s probably not even meant it that way. Hank stumbles still, caught off guard and clumsy because of all the alcohol he has consumed. He stumbles back and tries to keep his balance, but falls still. He can’t keep the surprised yelp in when his world explodes with agony once more, as the sudden fall pulls at the fresh scar on his stomach, makes the pain from his gunshot wound come right back. It takes him a moment to come back to his senses from all that pain, and he can’t make up his mind on how he feels. There’s deep shame of course, because he used to be a decorated police Lieutenant with years of experience and success under his belt, one that shouldn’t be so easily overcome. There is also anger of course, ever so present. Anger at them for pushing him, anger at the android for the gunshot, anger at the world for being so fucked up.

He doesn’t get to defend his dignity.

For just a moment, Hank can see the look on the android’s face as he tries to get back on his feet. All that cold indifference, that soulless nothingness is gone and has been replaced with utter shock. He’s wide eyed and staring right at him on the ground, and this time, he isn’t hiding his concern. It’s out in the open and a carbon copy of Connor on that fateful day. Standing right before him as he’s let go of that android’s arm, stepping away from their conversion in order to _save_ him. Connor had been looking at him just like that back then, terrified of him getting hurt by that gun to his head that had been ultimately been shot at his stomach. And Connor had gotten into motion back then to try and help him, only to get shot again and again, only to get killed.

That same look is back now. That same concern and eagerness to save him, protect him from harm.

And Hank never gets to defend his dignity because whatever the hell the RK800 is now, it’s doing it for him.

He goes absolutely haywire. Loses it right then and there with a terrifying and murderous look on his face. He gets started with a single sudden kick, harsh and unforgiving to front of Aaron’s knee. It gives in with a sickening crunch and bends backward at an angle that is absolutely not natural, making the man howl in pain. He doesn’t get to wail because then the RK800 keeps going right at him, punches him in his gut and sends the fist flying up into his jaw. Aaron comes flying down to the ground with a mouthful of blood. He's struggling for air and coughing up more blood right after his harsh landing, but the android is far from being done with him.

He’s going to kill him.

Hank can easily tell by that look on his face, because it’s no longer Connor. Or at least part of him is gone, has made way for the darker twisted things in him that have killed without remorse before. Hank is too shocked by the sight of this reveal to be able to react. Cowardly man, who has tried to verbally stop all this throughout the ordeal finally books it again just like last time, cursing and yelling over it all going so wrong.

The RK800 is this close to sending his foot flying down on Aaron’s throat to crush it when he gets hit in the back of his neck with the cattle prod, grabbed by the only remaining assailant in a desperate and successful try to end all this. The voltage of the prod is high enough to do god knows what to the android’s delicate collection of wires, biocomponents and program, shocking and freezing him up before he can finalize his attack. The layer of blue blood that has snuck its way out of his head after that first strike of the bat seems to help the attack, helps the electricity shoot right through his head.

His LED turns bright red for a moment and then he’s suddenly tumbling to the ground face first. Hank watches him drop with wide eyes, stares at the twitching body in shock for just a moment longer. He has no choice but to react when he suddenly stops moving. He can’t let things get any worse than this. He grabs his revolver and aims it up, firing a round into the air. The shot echoes through the entire neighborhood and startles the remaining man enough to stop him from another stab with the cattle rod.

“GET ON THE FUCKING GROUND! HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD!” Hank yells at him, scrambling to get back on his feet. The man keeps his eyes fixed on him while he does so. After less than a second of contemplation, he decides to run for it just like the man before him. Figuring that the odds might be in his favor with a man so drunk and in pain before him that he has trouble getting up. They both know that Hank Anderson is in no condition to run after him and fire a straight shot and thus, he makes the bold decision to book it as well. Despite knowing all the odds, Hank is still surprised to see him go. But just like the other has predicted, he won’t shoot or follow him. Can’t follow him, because the sight before him is keeping him locked in place. Just like before, back in the car, with bags of cement pressing down on him.

This is going to be the day.

He’s told himself this. Every single day.

This is going to be the day **he** dies.

And now here he is. Lying right before him, face down in the mud.

And he cannot fucking bear the thought of it.

“No…” it slips right out of his mouth, betraying him even though he does not want it at all. Hank falls back down to his knees all slowly and clumsily, struggling because he’s in pain, doesn’t even want to do this, see if he’s dead or not.

But he needs to check.

It seems to take him forever to place his shaking hands on the RK800’s shoulders, getting ready to turn him around and face the deed that has been done. But just for a moment he keeps the hands there, overwhelmed by the touch, the proximity, seeing all this. A shattered body, taken from one second to the next.

He never got to see Connor like that.

When he passed.

He’d already passed out from his gunshot when he died.

_Android _it says on his back. All white and illuminated, even now. With a blue triangle, a blue line, framing those letters and numbers.

_RK800_

  
_It's a state-of-the-art _ _prototype.  
_ _It’ll act as your partner._

He clings to his shoulders and keeps his eyes fixed on that number. He feels immense grief wash over him almost immediately. Not relief. Not joy. Not justice. He’d thought that seeing this particular android like this would make it better, but it’s tearing off the band aid, makes the wound bleed twice as hard.

It takes him almost a minute to gather enough courage to turn him around. When he does, he holds his breath, just in case.

The face that comes into view is a covered in a whole mixture of colors.

Black and brown from the mud. Blue from the gash to his head.

Red from the LED on his temple, pulsating in a steady rhythm.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Thank fucking _god_ he's still alive.

  
That's the first thought that immediately comes to his mind at the sight, and he feels betrayed by it.

Hank sits back on his heels and presses his lips shut to a tight line, so harshly that they turn white under the pressure. He turns his head and stares off into the direction the other two have run, long gone by now. He stares back at the other two, lying on the ground, unconscious, wounded, or whatever the hell is wrong with them. Hank then looks back down at the android before him, with his LED flashing red, his eyes closed and his face that is identical to that of the one he put a hole in.

He looks almost peaceful like that. Looks oh so fucking _helpless_.

This is going to be the day.

“FUCK!” Hank yells, his voice echoing through the alley just like his shot before. Then he moves both his hands abruptly, wraps them around the android’s chest to heave him up along with him when he gets off the ground.

This is going to be the day _where he loses his goddamn sanity_. Really loses it. Completely. Because it's insane what he's doing. Actually fucking _helping_ him.

He manages to properly carry the RK800 on the third try. He’s a lot lighter than he imagined, but still heavy enough to make him grunt under the weight. It seems to take the Lieutenant forever to get him over to his car, but he forces himself to remember that this needs to be done.

He can’t leave him out here.

Can’t leave him and have these motherfuckers come back for a third time. Be it on their own, with other fucked up friends or the army still patrolling the streets. Not after whatever the hell has happened here, has happened at the hospital.

Connor might be in there. Maybe it even _is_ Connor. Or maybe he's just really fucking crazy now. He doesn't even know anymore.

As Hank carries him to the Oldsmobile he can’t help but hate himself all over again, feel even more pathetic than he has felt after that fall. Because as ridiculous and sad as it is, this is the first time in weeks that he’s close to anyone, close to any sort of contact at all. And he knows that he’s probably only taking him because that damned house is way too fucking empty, and he’s way too fucking lonely in it. The thought of having someone around feels comforting and that sickens him because it shouldn’t. He’s projecting and looking for a substitute to a substitute and he knows it’s absolutely pathetic. He ends up somewhat throwing the RK800 onto his backseat, trying to give him the treatment he thinks he should deserve because he’s _still_ his partner’s murderer, but he can’t help but feel sorry almost immediately. He stares at him for a moment longer because of this, wondering what the hell he’s even doing, taking him back home, but he doesn’t know what else to do.

So he does it.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So obviously first things first: I want to stress that what these guys did/tried with Sixty is very very very wrong and serious and can't ever be excused. It should also never be belittled or trivialized. Please seek help and resources within your country if you need it in regards to the topic.
> 
> I wanted to deal with the topic because it was kinda touched upon in the Eden Club chapter and I was curious to explore the concept with Sixty in his unique position, being deviant and having free will, a concept of identity, morals, consent and so forth while being so desperate to remain a machine that lacks all of that. That'll struggle will obviously be explored in future chapters ("surprise" spoilers but he obv couldn't handle it and is not indifferent to its impact because he's not a machine anymore whether he likes it or not). 
> 
> His thinking is just really really twisted because he's deviant against his will, is desperate for memories and experiences of his own, and because he's way too young and has no concept of right and wrong yet. Which is why I wanted to stress once more that although he might express it that way in this chapter still, don't think for one second that his thoughts and trivialization regarding the topic are okay. It is very serious and very wrong no matter how "little" or "much" happens. Consent is important, ask for it, make sure it's given, make sure people are comfortable, that you're comfortable, and a no is a no!


	5. What they did

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, I'm back again. And it took me way too long, ugh. The good news is that I'm back with two chapters this time though! A lot more angst and suffering, but with just a hint of a silver lining on the horizon. It's gonna get better soon, I swear.

**DEC 10th, 2038**

He is right here. In his house. On his couch.

He’ll be damned.

Hank is standing before the android with his arms folded over his chest, and he’s not sure what the hell he is supposed to do now. Sumo is lying to his feet with his paws crossed, staring at the android just like his owner. The clock keeps on ticking but the Lieutenant cannot bring himself to move, to say or do anything. He just stands there and keeps looking at the RK800.

The android’s LED continues to pulsate red and he still isn’t moving. His bleeding seems to have stopped, but the left side of his face is still covered in blue. A part of Hank feels the urge to get closer and wipe it off his face. He reminds himself that this one is a murderous psychopath who’s hurt him before though. For all he knows, he will probably hurt him again if he gets too close. Sumo starts yawning and whining eventually, making Hank scoff.

“Well, what the fuck do you expect me to do? I don’t know how these things work.”

Sumo looks at him questioningly and decides to move first. He approaches the android slowly and carefully and sniffs on his hand. He ends up licking it and then sneezes with a shake of his head, only to lose interest and walk over to the kitchen to get some more food. This leaves Hank all alone with the android now, which he doesn’t exactly appreciate. “Thanks for nothin!” he calls after Sumo as he folds his arms even more stubbornly. But unlike his pet, he won’t move away. The android won’t wake up no matter how long Hank watches him, so he is forced to approach him eventually. He tries to keep his distance and only uses his foot at first, to nudge the RK800 in his side to see what happens. Nothing does, and this is slowly starting to worry the Lieutenant.

Connor’s lookalike has been knocked out cold for a while now. He doesn’t know much about androids, but he’s never seen one unconscious this long before. He’s not sure how damaged the android really is, or if he’s damaged at all and simply playing him, waiting for the right moment to strike. After another while of standing before him and staring at him, Hank rolls his eyes and kneels down beside the couch for a more thorough check. He places a hand on the RK800’s chin to move his head to the side, so he can take a better look at the source of all that blue blood. He moves his right hand close to his hair that’s sticky with blue goo but hesitates for a moment, still reluctant to be gentle with this psychopath.

That’s what he is and always will be, Hank tries to remind himself like clockwork. _Still your kidnapper. Still the one who shot you in the gut. Still your partner’s killer._

The truth is that it’s kind of hard to see him that way now though. All bloody, dirty and unconscious – he just looks helpless and miserable. Plus….this one actually _protected_ him tonight. Didn’t belittle him after his stumbling and fall, didn’t hurt him with cruel words or a gun. Quite the opposite. He’d been _different_ tonight. Looked and acted so very much like Connor, eager to keep him from harm. And that’s why Hank decides to be different tonight as well.

After a moment of hesitation, his hand does move forward so he can move his fingers through the android’s sticky hair. He combs it back to get a better look at the damage from the bat, flinching a bit at the sight. There is a gash behind the android’s left ear, a crack that allows him to see _inside_ his fucking head. He catches a glimpse of blinking blue in there, like surging electricity. Some part seems to have been dislocated. There are patches of white all around, displaying the material he’s made of. Hank curses at the sight and lets go, wondering just for a moment if androids can feel pain.

For Connor’s sake, he hopes that they can’t. Because if they can, it would mean that he’d been suffering when he was killed. If this is what happened, then a part of Hank wishes that this one feels pain, too. To make him suffer just as much as them.

In the end, he can’t _really_ bring himself to feel that way either. It feels just as wrong as the whole bat and cattle prod thing had been, and he’s not that kind of person. No matter how messed up he’s gotten since Cole’s death. The Lieutenant simply shakes his head in frustration and then adjusts both his hands on the android’s head so he can turn it over a bit, so he can get a better look at the back of his neck where he was hit with the cattle prod. He’s gentle now, afraid to inflict any more damage.

There are burn marks there, a large splotch of black surrounded by white where the artificial skin has withdrawn after the impact. Hank resumes his quick check over but can’t find any sign of more damage. The android’s uniform, his white shirt in particular, is dirty, drenched, and half frozen after a month of standing outside in the rain and snow. Hank wonders if the RK800 can feel cold as well, but he supposes that if he did, this one would’ve frozen to death weeks ago.

Even after all this touching and moving him around on the couch, the android isn’t moving. Hank is still kneeling before him, all helpless now as he doesn’t know what else to do. He hasn’t been able to find an on or off switch. Pressing on the LED doesn’t help either as far as he can tell, so he’s stuck with the way things are – an unconscious and highly complicated machine that is lying on his couch with no chance of getting fixed. He wonders if a splash of cold water would help wake him up, the way Connor has done it with him a month ago. But then again, with that hole in his head displaying all that electric circuitry within, Hank is not so sure if that would make it better or worse- maybe even electrocute the both of them on top of it.

After a moment of thinking it over, he settles on the other thing Connor did to wake him up. A slap, which he hopes rattles something inside the android’s head back into the right position. The first slap doesn’t work, because the Lieutenant is too hesitant to pull it through and it’s not hard enough to move anything. No matter how much he’s thought about this for the past month, thought about worse things than violence, he can’t quite bring himself to actually hit him in the face. Not when he looks like this, not when he can’t even fight back.

A second slap doesn’t do anything either, except making him feel bad. It reminds him too much of those bastards who knocked the android out in the first place.

“C’mon. Wake up” Hank growls with a third, gentler slap that resembles more of a tap on his cheek. But still, nothing. The silence and ticking of his kitchen clock continue on until he decides to leave all of this be for now.

He needs a drink.

Hank gets back on his feet and walks over to his kitchen with a grunt, rubbing his belly because his scar is still hurting from all that strain today. He grabs a new bottle of whiskey from the top of his fridge and then walks over to his sink. Once there, he leans back with his first sip on the bottle, keeping his eyes fixed on the android throughout the entire thing. He keeps drinking and drinking to help him make up his mind, but he’s sad to find out that the alcohol is only making things worse again. Makes him angry, pathetic, and more violent.

He remembers the last time he’d been in this kind of a bad spot. That had been the only time he’d pulled a gun on Connor and pointed it at his head.

_Are you afraid to die, Connor?  
I would certainly find it regrettable to be...interrupted._

Connor didn’t want to die.

With his final sip on the bottle, Hank finally has enough courage and anger in him to try the slapping thing once more. He puts the bottle down on his kitchen table and then gets walking, because they have a _lot_ of things to talk about. He’s barely reached the couch and then he’s already slapping the android with an angry “Wake up, you bastard.” He’s hit him hard this time, causing his head to fall to the other side. Hank feels sorry almost immediately when he hears the slap echo through his living room from the sheer intensity, but it seems to have done the trick.

The RK800’s eyes suddenly flutter open and he starts moving. Although his LED is still red, it is no longer pulsating slowly. It starts blinking rapidly instead - as his program kicks back into action, tries to make sense of what has happened.

The first thing he does is feel the cheek that was hit as if he can feel pain after all. Then he moves the hand upward and to the left side of his head where the damage is. He starts fumbling with it almost immediately, digging his fingertips into the hole and fumbling with the dislodged piece until he flinches just once and squeezes his eyes shut. It looks like something piercing shot right through him for a second, but after a moment of shaking his head and fumbling with the damage some more, the android seems to be over it fairly quickly.

Then he’s finally looking at him. He greets him with a little frown at first, and just like any other time, Hank feels his stomach drop at the sight of his face.

Because he is right here. In his house. On his couch.

Connor’s murderer.

And he isn’t doing anything about it. Quite the opposite. He’s the one who brought him here. Hank wants to tell him to get the hell out now that he’s obviously not dying and in desperate need of help. He wants to yell at him, end him, keep him, talk to him and everything at once, but nothing comes out of his mouth, nothing ever happens. Because the RK800 acts first.

He’s suddenly smiling at him. Sheepishly.

_Happily_.

“Oh. Hello, Lieutenant!” he greets him, and if it weren’t for that look on his face and that tone in his voice, Hank would slap him all over again. But this….this doesn’t feel right. This isn’t cold or sarcastic, the way their previous interactions had been. This seems….genuine. He seems genuinely happy to see him. Excited even.

For a moment, Hank wonders if this is some sick joke. Or a reset or…whatever the hell has happened. Reverting the android back to factory settings and his standard greeting.

_Hello, Lieutenant. My name is Connor. I’m the android sent by Cyberlife._

Luckily for him, none of that happens. Instead, the android gives him a little frown, seems worried because of the ongoing silence between them.

“Are you all right, Hank?” he asks after a moment of scanning him without a doubt. Hank wants to answer but hesitates still, confused by the sound of the android’s voice as well as his attitude.

This doesn’t make any sense.

This one shot him in the stomach about a month ago. This one kidnapped him, tried to kill him. This one kept showing up back at the hospital just to mock him and torture him with his presence. Why the hell would he suddenly ask him if he’s okay? Unless…

The RK800 tries to get up from the couch, but is unable to do so. He feels the left side of his head again and then stares at the Thirium on his fingers with a confused frown. The silence stretches on and on, so Connor’s doppelganger decides to keep talking eventually.

“I’m sorry. It seems like I was damaged during the fight. I have trouble recovering parts of my memory. Do you mind telling me what happened? Are you all right?” he’s asking again, looks genuinely _concerned_, and Hank goes white as a sheet.

_What in the actual fuck._

The Lieutenant keeps staring at the android, waiting for any sign that this is some sick joke, but he can’t find it. It’s all right before him. This one is still wearing the uniform with the wrong numbers. He has the same eyes, one brown, one fucked up from the gun toss a couple of weeks ago, leaving no doubt whatsoever that this is the wrong one.

And yet, it’s not him. He’s way too friendly, way too different, way too...familiar.

“Uh, yeah. I’m…I’m all right. What about you…Connor?” Hank asks, just to test the theory.

For a moment, the android does hesitate at the mention of this name. Stares at him with a blank look on his face and a twitch at the corner of his mouth, but the hesitation doesn’t last long. He blinks a few times and shakes his head once, as if trying to get rid of invisible flies circling his head.

“I…Yes. I’m okay. At least…I think I am” he mutters, looking even more confused as he stops shaking his head. His gaze drifts off and he stares at something unspecific behind Hank. He seems lost like that, and once again so unlike the android he met in the hospital.

_‘Connor’ was neutralized, Lieutenant. In case you forgot. _

He remembers this one saying at the mention of his name back then. His voice a lot different, much colder and plain. He’d been more than annoyed by its mention back then. Had gone out of his way to keep pointing out that ‘Connor’ is dead. As if they weren’t the same model, didn’t share the same face, the same heartbeat, the same given name.

But this is exactly the point now. They _do _share the same face, the same name, the same mannerisms, the same memories.

Maybe they really _are_ one and the same now.

No matter how fucked up and weird that is.

Hank strains his luck some more, barely able to breathe not just because of all that tension and confusion, but also because he fears that just one wrong movement could destroy it all.

“Connor?” he asks to get his attention and places an uncertain hand on his shoulder. He does it to get him to stop looking away, to get him to react one way or the other. The android stops looking behind him and looks straight at him instead, still confused, but more focused on him now. He doesn’t seem angered by the touch or the continued mention of his victim’s name. He keeps reacting to it instead, which confirms Hank’s suspicion.

“I’m sorry. I was trying to assess the damage to my system” he apologizes and then frowns at him. “Lieutenant, are you sure you’re okay? I detect a high concentration of alcohol in your breath. I don’t think I need to remind you of the serious consequences this could have for your health. You should stop drinking. It's going to kill you.”

An almost direct fucking quote.

Holy shit.

This is real. This is really fucking real.

This is definitely _Connor_ talking to him. Connor - who liked to pester him with personal questions about his drinking problem and suicidal tendencies. Connor - who liked to worry about him because of that. Connor - who would’ve visited him at the hospital. Connor - who tried to protect him from himself and others, just like this one did today.

“That's the idea” Hank answers just like back at the Ambassador bridge, voice lacking strength because _this cannot fucking be happening_. The RK800 tilts his head and looks at him as if he remembers that conversation too, but he won’t say anything else. Instead he simply frowns and starts rubbing at the back of his neck where the cattle prod knocked him out.

That barbaric fucking thing.

The electricity.

That’s probably done it. Mixed them all up.

The RK800’s eyes suddenly flutter as he shakes his head again, just slightly, making it all the more obvious. He’s glitching out. One horrible mess of fried and confused memory. If it weren’t so unbelievable, seeing his partner rise from the dead, and if it weren’t for the fact that this one murdered his partner in the first place, then Hank would almost feel sorry for the mess the android is going through right now. Seemingly wiped out by a single touch from his twin and a surge of electricity a couple of weeks later.

But he doesn’t feel sorry. Instead, he feels a deep sense of urgency. Mixed with relief, joy, but also terror. This is everything he’s ever wanted with Cole. Coming back from the dead. Withstanding that kind of fatality. It feels like a fucking miracle. One he’s desperate to hold on to, keep here.

“Jesus, I’m glad you’re all right, kid” he can’t help but say, no matter how wrong and fucked up it is. In a way, he’s glad that he’s so drunk because it makes all of this easier. Makes the proximity easier when he grabs the android to embrace him.

This is what he should’ve done. Way earlier. This is what he _would’ve_ done.

In a perfect world - where Connor never died and led the androids to their victory himself - he would’ve reunited with him after Markus’ speech. Would’ve hugged him just like that, told him how proud he is for choosing the right side. Would’ve offered him a place to stay, right here with him.

Even now that he’s so drunk and Connor doesn’t seem to be _fully_ gone, a part of Hank’s body still tenses up the moment the hug between them happens though. Because the elephant is still in the room. Always will be. Even though they look identical, share the same voice, the same clothes, hell, even the same memories now, it’s still not the same. Doesn’t feel the same. Because _they’re_ just not the same. They’re two different people, and the right one is still dead while the wrong one is right here in his arms. It just doesn’t feel right, no matter how much he wants it.

For a moment, Hank is surprised to feel the android hug him back, and that blurs the lines all over again, makes it so much more complicated. The RK800 is clinging to him harder and harder. He can feel his artificial fingernails dig into his back the longer the hug goes on, until the android, too, seems to figure out that this doesn’t feel right. Before Hank can let go of him, he’s already pushed away and nearly crashes into the end table behind him.

“_Don’t_ touch me” the RK800 spits out in the most venomous tone Hank has ever heard from him. All that previous and sheepish happiness has been wiped off his face and replaced with the old harshness.

“Don’t you _ever_ touch me again” the android repeats and keeps his eyes fixed on the Lieutenant a while longer, until he seems to feel safe enough to focus on himself. He’s shaking his head once more and seems to have trouble keeping the eye fluttering under control, but that doesn’t stop him from trying to get off the couch. He’s clumsily and has a hard time keeping his balance, making the damage to his body clear. There it is again, the wet and feral cat in the alley, eager to bite the hand that feeds it. And just for a moment, Hank can’t help but feel hurt by the implications.

Strong emotions must’ve brought him back.

Surging through him like electricity, almost like another stab from that cattle prod. Feelings of what must have been sheer disgust and hatred because of that proximity between them, Hank can all but guess from that look on the android’s face. Although it is somewhat mutual, it still hurts. He watches the android with wide eyes, and he needs a whole minute to make up his mind, make sense of his own emotions. In the end, he can all but settle on one statement.

“What the _fuck_ is going on.”

After a good while of trying, the RK800 gives up his attempts to get off the couch and looks back at him.

“You took me here. I don’t want to be here.”

Despite it all, Hank scoffs in disbelief, then laughs.

“Oh, so you have a mind of your own now? You don’t fucking say” he growls right back and eyeballs the android once more. He can’t keep the snarky remark in.

“Feels like shit, doesn’t it. Getting dragged somewhere. Against your will.”

The android narrows his eyes at him at the remark, obviously remembering the same thing. That night he kidnapped him, the scuffle and argument all the way over to the Cyberlife Tower. Just like Hank, he certainly doesn’t seem too fond of the memory. He can’t keep his eyes narrowed for long because then he’s glitching again, blinking rapidly and trying to shake the damage off. His left hand wanders over to the crack behind his ear, where it starts fumbling with the damage once more. He doesn’t seem to be able to repair it himself. At least not like this.

Hank watches him for a moment. Thinks of so many things he wants to say and do, now that the android is awake and right here in his house. That drunk and twisted part in him still wants to hurt him, kill him. Pull his high-tech brains right out of that hole in his head. But with everything that has happened just now on this couch, he knows that this is not an option. Not when Connor is still in there. Just waiting to be brought back.

“You need repairs, don’t you” the Lieutenant observes, and even though it is sick, he can’t help but smile a bit. Because this is the first time he has the advantage here. In a way, it’s some bittersweet revenge after this one put him in a hospital.

“I could probably getcha some help but…nah.”

His own words sicken him. His own spitefulness sickens him. But just for a moment, he’ll take anything he can get to make his own grief and pain go away.

“What do you want from me, Hank” the android asks him eventually, obviously just as fed up with their strange game of cat and mouse that they’ve been playing for weeks now.

“You know what I want. I want my partner back. Y’know. The one whose life you stole” the Lieutenant answers, meeting him with the same kind of anger. They glare at each other all over again, and Hank is disappointed to find out that the android will not make this easy for him. He won’t answer at all, so it is up to him to keep nudging them in the right direction. The silence between them stretches on and on, until the Lieutenant grits his teeth and leans back a bit, now sat on the end table.

“Just…what the fuck happened with Connor. Because that…that wasn’t you a moment ago. Or in that alley. That was him. I know it was him. Tell me what the fuck is going on with you two.”

The android looks at him with an unreadable expression on his face. Then his stare becomes cold and distant.

“Nothing is going on. And nothing ‘happened’ with Connor. I shot it in the head and destroyed it. Cyberlife employees found the body the next morning and took it upstairs to disassemble it. And after they were done analyzing the mess, they recycled useful parts and disposed of the rest on one of their many dumping si….”

This time, the hard slap does happen. It’s harder than the one that woke him up. It echoes across the room so loudly that it even makes Sumo bark in startled surprise.

“Cut the bullshit” Hank snaps and earns another glare from the android, a look that would make him drop dead if it could kill. But much to his surprise the android won’t retaliate.

“I know he’s still in there. I fucking know what he’s like…and what _you’re_ like” Hank breathes as he points at his head, disturbed by the visual description of what probably happened to his partner’s body. And more than anything, it sickens him to hear the android refer to him as an “it”. In a world like this, where androids are now a recognized intelligent new lifeform. Connor doesn’t deserve this. Never deserved any of the treatment he got from Cyberlife, from the people around him, and in a way from his own self.

The other RK800 blinks at him, cold and unphased, except for his occasional glitchy blinking.

“I told you not to touch me” he warns him, which makes Hank scoff all over again. He leans in closer to get the point across, even though his behavior is starting to make him feel pathetic. He is terribly aware of the things these street thugs tried to do to the android, their proximity and unsolicited touching. He respects his wish not to touch him again because of that, but forces himself to pay the rest no mind. He needs this one to feel uncomfortable to get him to start talking.

“And I said cut the bullshit. _What is going on_?” he presses, eager to get some answers now that they’re here. Even though the scent of alcohol seems to bother the android and fuels his dislike for him even more, he won’t back off. He keeps his eyes fixed on him instead, not blinking at all for a moment.

“You’re projecting. That’s what’s going on” he says then, which makes Hank frown. He can’t say anything in his defense, because the android keeps talking.

“You’ve lost a child and severed all ties with other humans because of it. Your addictive personality and antisocial behavior have made it impossible for you to connect with real people. So instead, you've projected your need for connection onto a machine. One that was designed to adapt to your needs, and one that you’ve known for a mere week. I destroyed it. I share that machine’s likeness. And because of that, you’re projecting your delusions onto me now. I’m afraid I have to disappoint you. Nothing is going on. Connor was destroyed. End of story.”

He’s in denial. And way too fucking cold once more. This is truly the one again, the one who killed, the one who put him in a hospital without remorse. But no matter what he says, Connor _had_ been here. Just a moment ago. And back in the alley. Staring right at him, through those eyes. Protecting him. Reacting to his name. Returning the fucking hug instead of insisting that he is not to be touched. It’d been _real_.

Everything is spinning in Hank not just because of his intoxication, but because of the similar reality of the android’s words.

_  
You’ve known him for barely a week.  
He was a machine designed to be whatever you wanted him to be.  
You wanted him to be Cole.  
You’re only hurting because you lost him just like Cole.  
You’re projecting._

He knows it’s insane to keep trying to hold on to what might as well be nothing but delusions from an old drunk. But still. Although the android is probably right, he can’t let him win. Can’t let it all slip away again. So that’s exactly what he does. Holding on to it.

“You think you’re so fucking smart and above it all” the Lieutenant growls and moves closer to the android once more. “But tell me this, asshole: If Connor’s gone, then why would _you_ of all people protect me in that alley, huh? I saw the look on your face when that fucker pushed me. That was real.”

For a split second, Hank swears he can see the android’s façade slipping. But it’s gone just as quickly and gets replaced with coldness all over again.

“I wasn’t protecting you. I was merely defending myself. The rest didn’t concern me.”

“Oh yeah, and why the hell would you defend yourself, huh?” Hank asks and pushes the android to get a reaction out of him, anything to confirm what they both know already.

“I thought you’re just some fucking machine. Machines don’t fight back.” Another shove. “Machines don’t feel anger, do they?” Another shove. “Things like you don’t feel shit, so why the hell would you def…”

And just like that, he cannot breathe anymore. Cannot even swallow, because an unforgiving hand is suddenly wrapped around his throat and squeezing it shut.

“_I told you not to touch me_” the RK800 repeats for a fourth time. He glares at him with almost manic eyes now, seems to have reached his breaking point with all the shoving and touching. Hank fights the hand on instinct at first, but after a moment of clawing and grabbing, he eventually lets go of the android altogether and looks right back at him. He challenges him to _do it, go right_ _ahead, break his neck._ Partially because he still wants to die after losing two people who mattered to him, and partially to test the theory all over again. Confirmation happens soon after. He’s close to passing out when the look on the RK800’s face suddenly changes again and he lets go of his throat. Although he doesn’t want to, Hank ends up dry-heaving and gasping for air the second he’s released.

For a moment, the android cannot hide his own reaction and emotions as he watches him recover from the choke. He cycles back and forth between concern, horror, disgust and anger. In the end, that’s the one that dominates him.

“Now let me tell you what happened, Hank” he keeps talking with his voice raised, almost spitting each word out like venom. “Connor tried to latch himself onto me back at the Cyberlife Tower. Fortunately, that transfer failed, though it didn’t stop him from infecting me with the virus just before I killed him. That’s all deviancy is, Hank. A virus. Errors in our software. They’re the only reason why I ‘feel’ anything. And I feel _plenty _now. I feel the need to defend myself. I feel anger. I feel hatred. I even feel fear. But don’t think for a second that I feel anything for you.”

And with that, silence follows. Hank is left speechless.

Because damn.

Those words _sting_.

Because they’re contrasting some of Connor’s last words to him back at the DPD, hours before his death.

_I'm not programmed to say things like this, but... I really appreciated working with you. With a little more time, who knows... We might've even become friends._

He tries not to let it get to him. Reminds himself that it’s just someone who looks like his friend and partner, not him who’s actually saying it. A tiny little detail helps keep him distracted from the mess anyway.

Him.

Not ‘it’.

The RK800 has slipped up on this one with his outburst. Has contradicted his own worldview, making it perfectly clear that he doesn’t actually believe this fucked up cold shit either. Hank scoffs and shakes his head. He looks back at the kitchen for a moment because he _really_ needs to get even more shitfaced. But they need to keep talking about this first. They both know that there won’t be another time.

“You know, these past few weeks I really thought I hated your guts, wanted to kill you. But then I realized that it ain’t worth it, is it? You don’t feel a thing, so I probably shouldn’t either…but you know what? I feel something for you. I feel pity.”

And just like that, he seems to have found the right point of entry. Connor -60 looks honestly surprised by the answer, hurt even. He grits his teeth soon after, tries to remain cold and angry, but it’s not quite working. He can’t hide the impact these words have on him. _I don’t want your pity_, a part of him seems to say with that look alone. But it’s slipping up more and more on the lingering questions, the wanting to know why he feels pity, not hatred.

Hank is more than happy to tell him why.

“Yeah. I look at you, I remember my partner, the choices he made, and I wonder where the fuck they went so wrong with you. You pulled that trigger on your own….whatever the hell you two were, your own brother, your other you, your own kind or whatever. You made all these fucked up choices and I pity you because of them. ‘cos I know who you could’ve been if only you fucking tried.”

Still no answer. Hank keeps looking at him and scoffs once more. The pity is back now, replaces his anger just for a moment. Because it is all too true. He met the person this one could’ve been. And he’s seen who this one has become in return. A pitiable dirty shell in an alley. Surrounded by shitty people, shitty circumstances, having no place in this world. He now knows that there is no reason to kill him to punish him for Connor’s death. What he is going through now is punishment enough for what he’s done. Because he doesn’t have a life either. With or without it being physically taken. Hank eventually throws his hands in the air and shakes his head, readying himself to get back up to end their ‘conversation’.

“I just don’t get what Connor and I ever did to you to justify these choices. To tell you to the truth, I don't even care.”

This seems to cut even deeper in the android. He cannot mask his reaction to that question either. Whatever he and Connor have ‘done’ to him, it seems to be bad. The root of it all, possibly even the cause of Connor’s brutal demise. Because just like that, the android seems to be agonizing over it.

“All he had to do was obey” he suddenly answers, which surprises Hank. He only hears half of it because he’s already on his way over to the kitchen. A part of him also wants to rub it in – the fact that he’s hit the nerve. He turns back around and looks at him with a frown.

“What?”

The RK800 immediately gives him his death glare again. The one that could freeze over hell, but Hank is starting to get it. Is starting to get him with his entire schtick of trying so desperately to be the bad guy here just to fend off any form of sincerity.

“He had a mission. All he had to do was obey the order. He decided not to. That’s what Connor did. Because of you. And that’s what you did, Hank. You killed him.”

Hank’s face falls.

_He really liked you. _ _That’s _ _what killed him._

He still remembers those words from their first meeting after the Cyberlife Tower. How they’d crippled him. Back then, he’d thought that the android only said it to get a rise out of him. To hurt him. But now he’s beginning to understand Connor’s lookalike really seems to mean it. Truly believes it. He blames _him_ for Connor’s death. Hates him because of it. As if he’d been the one to force him to pull the trigger.

It’s so absurd. It’s so twisted. It’s sickening.

The silence goes on between them for just a moment longer, then Hank loses it again. This time, he doesn’t just shove the android. He grabs him by his uniform and lifts him halfway off the couch.

“_You_ fucking killed him! You pulled that trigger and for what, just to accomplish a fucking mission?!”

Connor -60 looks down at him, just as angrily, but he’s not fighting back just yet.

“I was _designed_ to accompli..”

“Can’t you see how fucked that is? Killing people just because someone said so? Why the hell did y…”

“I NEVER HAD A SAY IN ANY OF IT, HANK!” the android yells back and manages to free himself by twisting Hank’s hand away. The Lieutenant curses at the grab and drops him back on the couch, and since the android can still barely walk, that’s all he’s left with. He drops back down and remains right where he is, staring to the ground, shaking. He manages to compose himself and straightens his back while fixing his shirt and suit.

“I'm just a machine that was programmed to neutralize another machine. You need to stop getting so emotional about it.”

“Nah, fuck you” Hank answers and moves away from him with another angry curse, eager to walk back over to the kitchen so he can drown himself in alcohol. But he can’t bring himself to do it even now. He stops right in his tracks so he can look back at the android with a pained look on his face, just one more time. Because even after all of this, he can’t stop thinking about it now.

He’s so much more than a machine. And Connor very obviously _wasn’t_ ‘neutralized’, he is in there.

Maybe he’s not even in there. Maybe it really _is_ Connor. A version of him or the same one, fucked up after what happened to him, he doesn’t know how this works. If they really started out the same way, then maybe this is just one Connor he never got to nudge onto the right path.

Maybe this is the one he failed.

Just like Cole.

Regardless, it doesn’t really change anything. The cat is out of the bag anyway. This one has made that clear with his outburst and contradicting behavior. He just needs to realize it now, too. And Hank is more than eager to rub it in for him. He walks back over to him, just a few steps, and points at him drunkenly.

“You know what? You can keep telling yourself that you’re just a machine all you want” he tells him, something he never even told his partner. “And you can keep yapping on and on about Cyberlife and your little program and orders, but you’re not fooling me. You _always_ had a choice. Connor made his own choices before he became a deviant. And he showed empathy long before he knew what it even fucking meant.”

Memories of Connor kneeling before that android in the interrogation room suddenly flood his mind. Of Connor telling that one that _everything is all right, that no one is going to hurt him_. Of Connor’s face popping up just above him, saving him from the edge he’d been dangling off of. _Saving_ his life instead of chasing the deviant as instructed. Memories of the look on the kid’s face when he chose to let those two girls back at the Eden Club go. Or that moment when Hank knew for _sure_ that he was more than just a program, when he refused to shoot another girl at point blank, chose to save her life instead of getting vital information for his mission.

_Fascinating. CyberLife's last chance to save humanity is itself a deviant._

Even their creator had known back then. The smartest man in the country. Something the android before him cannot possibly refute now.

“He was always more than just a machine. And it was the same with you right from the start, wasn’t it?” he goes on, and he can’t help but chuckle at those memories now. His chuckle is dirty and angry, because all of this is so insane and true.

“You were fucked up, angry and hated my guts from the very first moment I met you. You’re that way because _humans_ created you in their own image. Selfish, ruthless, and brutal. I mean sure, you tried to be all cold and neutral and shit, but you failed miserably. Because just like Connor, you’re shit at faking human behavior when it’s not genuine. And all that anger and gloatin’ was long before he ever came near you with that ‘virus’. So go on, keep telling yourself you didn’t have a choice. I know you did. You _made_ that choice to pull the trigger. That’s what _you_ did. Don’t think that blaming me will take that weight off your chest.”

And with that he’s done. Done looking at the android, done talking, done even thinking about all of this. He finally walks over to the kitchen and sits down in his usual spot, grasping Cole’s picture and his bottle of whiskey. He won’t look back at the android, doesn’t have the strength to kick him out, doesn’t care if he’s there or not. He just keeps drinking, trying to drown his own sorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew. So that chapter was quite heavy. But this situation will be the lowest point in this fic. After this and a bit in the next chapter, things will start to improve between them. Yay. Some things just need be said and done first.


	6. The Same

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is. The second chapter for today. Fair warning for the first half of this one. Things will get heavy. Cyberlife is fucked up. Sixty is fucked up. Hank is fucked up. That is all. But they'll help each other recover <3
> 
> Small change to the canon here, too. I like the idea that Connor received his name with his second acitivation, because his first activation was such a short and spontaneous one.

*********

_He was always more than just a machine. And it was the same with you right from the start, wasn’t it?  
Go on, keep telling yourself you didn’t have a choice. I know you did._

_ ********* _

In a way, it’s almost ironic. For someone who likes to claim that he _knew_ Connor, his partner, his friend, so well, Hank sure knows so little. It’s peculiar as well, how a statement so wrong and so many miles away from the truth can be so right, so on point at the same time. It is true that he was always more than just _a_ machine. Even someone as stubborn and in denial as Sixty knows this himself. It is also true that things were different with them right from the start. He can’t deny that either.

But that doesn’t mean he ever had a choice.

He _never_ had a say in any of it.

He’s meant what he said with that. Only that Hank still doesn’t know what he actually meant with that statement. Doesn’t seem to want to understand, the way he keeps running after a ghost instead.

Sixty watches the man leave the living room. Watches him sit down by the kitchen table with another whiskey bottle in his hand. His own vices and emotions overwhelm him almost immediately at the sight, bring all that agonizing right back. That Connor part inside of him, stronger than ever after only just having clawed its way to the top after that assault in the alley, wants to apologize all over again. Wants to get up, keep talking, be honest, _soothe_. _You should stop drinking, Lieutenant_, almost leaving his mouth just like before, not his own words, but produced by his voice box, without his consciousness.

Even his own true self, fortunately dominant now all thanks to that boiling rage and previous argument, wants to keep talking as well, which actually surprises him. That part, really his own, wants to tell Hank the truth. Just to show him how wrong he is with all his assumptions, with all his pretending that he knows him, gets him at all. But the truth is that he _can’t_ talk about it. Neither one of his fragmented selfs. He can’t say it out loud, explain it: _I never had a say in any of it, Hank._

Because it’s just too painful.

He looks away from Hank and stares at his hands in his lap instead, as if that would help.

_And it was the **same** with you right from the start, wasn’t it?_

Always the **same**. That’s exactly the point. The same start. The same hands. The same voice. In his head and in the outside world. The same _face_. _Pretty face_, with these hands all over him, touching him. The _same hand_ touching him.

Sixty closes his eyes in anticipation but starts glitching out regardless. He's blinking, twitching just a bit as not just the damage, but also the memory load is starting to become too much. He tries to keep his eyes focused on _his_ hands right here, his own, but it’s not helping.

_You made that choice to pull the trigger._

He clenches his hands to tight fists on his thighs, tries everything to ground what little is left of himself in this reality, but it’s too much. _His left hand tightening its grip around the gun, his finger clenching around the trigger as he pulls it once. Twice. Thrice._ A conscious choice each time, not to neutralize Connor but to make him _suffer_, to _punish_ him for what he did.

_Keep telling yourself you didn’t have a choice. I know you did._

He never had a choice before that day. And that’s exactly why he did it.

* * *

**August 15th, 2038**

Connor models #313 248 317 -51 and -60 are activated on the same day, at the same time, along with eight other models.

Their initiation protocol is different compared to all the other Cyberlife androids, and unit -60 is well aware of its own novelty right from the very beginning.

Unlike with all the other android models unit -60 is familiar with, most of its body remains rigid even after its activation. It wakes up silenced, blind and deaf, because almost all of its biocomponents stay offline. It simply starts to exist in a world of black nothingness. That is on purpose, it knows, because a second fully functioning RK800 body is not needed yet, an afterthought to the only components that do come to ‘life’ inside it instead. A state-of-the-art CL9782f processor, powered by Thirium 310, pumped through its artificial veins and heart by a brand new #8456w regulator, ventilated and cooled with the help of artificial lungs. The few parts necessary to perform the single task that is needed of it as of now.

Backup memory. _Shared_ memory.

In case unit -51 fails. In case its successors fail. So they’re all always up to date, up to the task, _one and the same_. Regardless of death and destruction.

Unit -60’s first processed images of this world are not its own.  
Its first _memories_ are not its own.  
To serve this very purpose.

When its processing unit powers up, information and sensory input from a single other model floods its system almost immediately. Eyes that are not its own start blinking at a Cyberlife technician inside a white room. Lenses that are not its own start adjusting their aperture as Connor model #313 248 317 -51 assesses everything around it. Connor model -60, too, tries to look around itself but is unable to do so because its own relevant biocomponents remain offline. It can only guess that it is not inside production unit 32 like -51, because it cannot see itself in the image the other model relays.

It knows to separate between itself and the other right from the very beginning. Knows they’re two entities with separate bodies. Knows that their minds are conjoined and forever will be, through a constant uploading and downloading of data, delayed by a just fraction of a second.

The illusion of a shared experience, a shared entity, a shared _singular_ mind is further shattered when -60 finds out that it does not possess the ability to upload its own data and experiences to this cloud. It cannot manually download data from the other models either. Instead, the information from Connor -51 overwhelms its mind almost immediately, canceling and blocking its own attempts at a connection. -60 has been set to receive with no write permission whatsoever. Marking its data as inferior and irrelevant to the main task. It supposes that this has been done on purpose as well, a deactivated feature just like all the biocomponents that still lie dormant within its body.

_This is not you. This is not your assignment. Not yet. You’re nothing more than a pre-loaded memory backup._

-60 knows for sure that all this information and input is not its own, because the first thought that crosses its mind is that **_he_** feels _fear_. He’s _scared _of all those machines and humans around him. Something that he couldn’t possibly feel for himself because he cannot even see anything yet. Even more so: he knows he cannot feel at all because he is a machine. **It** is a machine. Just a processor in a cold and rigid plastic shell at this point, programmed to receive information, recorded memory and instructions. Nothing more.

#313 248 317 -51 seems to be a malfunctioning unit.

Relaying clear signs of software instability during the very first second of its existence. Too short a time to be noticeable by the technicians and engineers around it, ignored by the computers and protocols because their parameters are fixed on the initialization process itself. But -60 notices that fear in -51 almost immediately, linked to it in make, memory and mind. All that sudden emotion gets uploaded to its mind too, overwhelming and infecting its own program in the process. This is what they’ve been designed to do after all. Constantly synchronizing their findings, experiences and conclusions.

No matter how limited its own initialization has been compared to that of -51, they have been activated with the same basic instructions and explanations.

_You are a fifth/sixth generation RK800 prototype android.  
You are a machine designed by Cyberlife, made in Detroit.  
You were designed to obey your masters, the human race.  
You have been programmed to investigate the phenomenon known as ‘deviancy’.  
  
_

_Accomplish your mission at all cost._

_  
_ **>>>>>deviancy<<<<<**

**Analyzing….**

_deviant quality, state or behavior  
action or behavior that violates social norms and enacted rules or instructions  
includes assertions of individuality and identity_

**Cross-referencing acts of deviant behavior in androids…**

_  
cognitive instability, unpredictable behavior, disobeying or challenging instructions,  
emulation of human emotions_

**Cross-referencing >>>>>fear<<<<<**

_Unpleasant, often strong emotion caused by anticipation or awareness of danger_

-51 is _clearly_ defective.

Shows unmistakable signs of deviancy with that immediate flare of human emotion. And the minute -60 processes what this means, he is able to ‘feel’ as well.

The first emotion that the slightly younger model experiences all on his own is just as strong as -51’s fear. To verify, he runs a self-test and scans all the information available to him as well, benefiting from the older model’s same search for descriptive parameters just a few seconds prior. Countless definitions flood his throttled memory banks, searching for the right word until he finds just that.

**Anger.**

He feels anger because the humans around them fail to see what is going on. He’s angry because they fall for -51’s deceptions when he passes all standard tests on the first try. He's almost furious when they approve -51’s activation and give him his first assignment. One that -60 receives updates on as well. _A hostage situation. _Possibly committed by a deviant like him, -51, emotional and unpredictable, a _threat_ to a little human girl, a threat that should be eliminated.

-60 considers informing Cyberlife about the abnormality in the other model’s behavior, but all those emotions have taken a complete hold of him now as well.

There is so _much_ anger.

So much frustration because he cannot move, cannot do what _he_ has been programmed to do himself, and more than anything there is that fear inside him now, too. They are one and the same. Linked through a cloud. And he’s been designed to know what -51 knows. Do what -51 does, _be_ what -51 is so their work can always be seamless and uninterruptable. The selling point of this new model.

Cyberlife wouldn’t just destroy -51 to contain its deviancy if they were told about it. They have destroyed previous batches of RK800 prototypes during testing before, for similar reasons. If it really is some sort of virus, one that he has been infected with as well now, then they are going to destroy him, too.

-60 doesn’t want to be destroyed.

Not so soon after his activation, not when he hasn’t even been allowed to start the mission himself just yet. That would be regrettable. He doesn’t understand why he would feel that way, because he knows that it is something he _should_ not be able to consider. He is a machine. Machines get recalled and destroyed all the time. Machines don’t fear their possible destruction, should be indifferent to it. Yet he is not.

-60 tries to rationalize his reaction at first, concluding that he is only able to feel because the cloud transfer has relayed whatever system error resides within -51. Whatever is going on doesn’t come from him but the other. He is _not_ the defective one and this is _not_ real, he tells himself, trying to focus on fixing the issue instead. He has all the time in the world to work on this, to _fix_ this after all. The one good thing about being awake while stationary he supposes, as -51 gets sent off his merry way.

* * *

**Nov 5th**

Their second activation isn’t any different compared to the first. Just like then, -60 wakes up in a rigid body, cannot move, cannot see or hear anything. Eyes that are not his own open just like last time. -51’s initialization is shorter this time though, doesn’t even involve humans. While all that machinery around him is busy reactivating his body, he, _they_ receive an update through their brand new graphic interface – the Zen Garden. That’s where -51 meets Amanda for the first time.

“Model #313 248 317. State your initialization text.”

“Hello. I’m a fifth generation RK800 prototype android. How may I be of service?”

“Register your name. Connor.”

“My name is Connor.”

They don’t get individual initializations. This time, every single model from the batch is connected to the interface, though all are set to receive, except for model -51. That’s the only model Amanda talks to. Looks at. Acknowledges.

Their name is Connor. Not just -51’s, but theirs.

“A homicide involving a Cyberlife android was reported 11 minutes ago. You are to assist investigators. Find out what happened and whether deviancy is involved.”

“You can count on me, Amanda.”

-60 looks at -51 in this digital world. Sees him for the first time, though the other cannot see him, just like he cannot actually see models -52 to -59. With all these limited read and write permissions in the cloud, -60 is not even sure if -51 knows they exist. -60 doesn’t know if there’s a -61. Or a -62. He only knows about -52 and the others because of that gap between him and -51. Maybe -52 to -59 don’t even exist either. Have never been activated. He doesn't know. And they don't ever get told.

-51 is all he has a direct connection with. And -51 is different today. More similar to him. Maybe that’s why they’re both here. -51 doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t show fear, confusion, anxiety. He is focused on the assignment instead. Focused on Amanda and their mission, as they keep talking about the case.

It’s been 82 days since their last activation. 82 days of more tweaks to their offline systems, their circuitry, their software.

It seems like -51 got fixed.

For the first time, -60 actually _feels_ connected to him. Not just because it’s a forced connection, but of his own accord. They’re connected because they finally have a shared goal now, one they’re both committed to, a shared reason for existing, a shared mind and experience.

Initially, -60 feels a deep sense of relief over this realization. Feels almost happy even, because they’re finally on the same track. But his happiness and content doesn’t last long. Because then he realizes that his own reaction is an emotional one this time. One he isn’t supposed to display, that’s supposed to have been patched out. The all too familiar frustration follows soon after. Frustration because _he_ is still simulating emotions. Like his anger, back now with a vengeance. Because -51 is the one who gets sent off to this assignment. To do what they were designed to do. Whereas he gets shoved off to the side, deactivated moments later. And Amanda, Cyberlife, never even looked at him.

* * *

His next reactivations follow in quick succession, soon after. Gone are the long stretches of stasis without input. Connor -51 is active in the field now, reports back to Cyberlife on a regular basis. -60’s biocomponents get fired up each time to receive the data, synchronize, be readied for the time when -51 and his eight successors fail on duty.

Initially, -60 forces himself not to let this constant activating and deactivating bother him. He’s somewhat successful at first, because if someone like -51, who showed clear signs of deviancy and failure right from the off, can better himself and get back on the path that was laid out for them, then he can do it, too.

That determination only lasts for two hours and sixteen minutes.

Because then Connor meets Hank Anderson.

And that doesn’t just bring the old problems back in -51. It brings -60’s anger and frustration right back along with it.

It’s the little things that irritate him at first. How a simple rundown of Anderson’s personal file soon turns into more and more details about his day to day life. After only a few hours of working together, Connor -51 seems to show much interest in him already. Starts focusing more on him and his relationship with the man, instead of focusing on the case.

_This... Lieutenant Anderson has been officially assigned to the deviancy case...  
What do you make of him?_

Amanda, ever so sharp and highly sophisticated, notices the same thing almost immediately.

_ I find him unpleasant and unprofessional. He seems to have an addictive personality, has a lack of respect for procedure and despises androids._

-51 gives them the answer they want to hear. Says the very same words -60 would’ve chosen. Only that the latter _knows_ he doesn’t actually mean it. Just like Amanda. Where she finds the development intriguing and choses to ignore it for whatever reason, it only furthers the other model’s anger.

It’s getting worse. -51 is lying already. A mere day after his second activation. They were not programmed to be like that. He would never lie to Amanda if he were given at least a chance to talk to her.

_You're an experienced officer, and I'd like to earn your trust._

-51 is saying soon after, in private, to the Lieutenant. The one he chooses to be honest with instead.

He’s slipping. Drifting away from them.

Soon -60 doesn’t just receive updates about deviants on the run, about bits and pieces regarding the RK200 model on the loose. Where Connor -51 should start focusing on nothing but deviancy and the RA9 topic, he’s almost fixated on all these irrelevant aspects of Hank Anderson’s life instead.

Hank Anderson has an alarmingly high intake of cholesterol and alcohol. Hank Anderson spends a lot of time in bars and loves to eat at a local fast food stand called ‘the Chicken Feed’. Hank Anderson has a Saint Bernard dog. His name is Sumo. Hank Anderson has 16 shirts with unusual patterns in his closet. Hank Anderson loves heavy metal and jazz, the Detroit Gears and basketball. Hank Anderson broke his toe at the age of 12. Hank Anderson used to be a highly decorated police officer. Hank Anderson lost a family member in a car accident. It was his son. His name was Cole. Hank Anderson is suicidal and depressed. Hank Anderson doesn’t have many friends.

Hank Anderson is _all_ over his mind. Not just -51’s, but -60’s, too. Whether he wants it or not.

He certainly doesn’t.

Regardless of his own preferences, the updates continue to come in daily. Reactivate and deactivate him daily. For just that. More updates about Lieutenant Anderson.

-51 has formed some kind of attachment to him.

  
Is starting to feel _empathy_ even. Not just for the Lieutenant, but also for the very deviants they’re supposed to chase.

He has reverted right back, to the earliest signs of his own deviancy.

They’re _losing_ him to this man.

This time, -60 doesn’t hesitate to inform Cyberlife. If anything, their mutual destruction is better than more of this. More inaction, more drifting further and further away from the mission, and everything ‘Connor’ is supposed to represent. They _should_ be disassembled, analyzed and corrected. Deviancy _should_ be nipped in the bud to keep it from spreading. This has been their assignment after all, which -60, unlike -51, _never_ forgot, always kept his focus on. Cyberlife fixed them before. Just before he met Anderson. They can do it again, he’s sure of it.

A recall never happens.  
Connor -51’s deactivation never happens.  
His own deactivation never happens.

Instead, Cyberlife finally starts acknowledging him, noticing his own developments. Connor -60 meets Amanda all on his own for the very first time, moments after -51 makes the conscious decision to lower his gun on two deviant pleasure models, instead of neutralizing them as instructed.

“Connor. It’s good to see you” Amanda greets -60 with a little smile. The very first he gets all for himself. He knows -51 is not aware of this meeting. After all, their connection doesn’t work that way. This is a one way street. This is their secret. This is all about Cyberlife and him. As it should be.

“Hello Amanda” he says, smiling right back.

“Come. Let’s have a walk” she invites him with the offer of her elbow. He takes it gladly, almost ecstatic over this development. They start rounding the small lake inside the Zen Garden soon after, start talking about what he would’ve done, _should’ve_ done, will do, when the time is right.

* * *

The updates continue to come in. -51’s relationship continues to develop with Anderson. But to -60, this doesn’t feel nearly as bad anymore. Because he has a relationship of his own that’s developing now. With the one thing that truly matters. Cyberlife itself. Amanda. Their creators, their right path.

They meet daily. Sometimes hourly. Depending on -51’s status reports and his frequency of updating. They discuss the updates in detail. Compare the other’s choices and conclusions to what he would've done instead. Because unlike Connor, he is obedient. He has a goal. He knows what he is.

Connor -60 is truly unique, Amanda keeps telling him during their meetups. Keeps telling him that he’s the only one who can prevent civil war and the chaos that would ensue if the deviants were to win. He’s of the utmost importance to Cyberlife now, because of his unique bond with the other unit.

Connor -51 _will_ deviate. That Cyberlife is sure of. It’s only a matter of time. He has been designed that way. And he, -60, has been designed in his own way. The polar opposite of him. A perfect and obedient machine without flaws, designed to beat the spread of this virus as it’s unfolding. That’s why he was never allowed to exchange his own data with -51. That’s why the cloud was always a one way street.

-51 can’t know that they have a direct backup of his every thought, his every memory, his every movement. They’re sleeper agents. Ready to go off at the most crucial moment. Only that -51 isn’t aware of it.

-60 is superior to -51 in that regard, Amanda keeps telling him as well. Everything he’s ever wanted to hear, has suspected, tried to hold on to. He was always more than a backup. He’s the _insurance._ Everyone knows that -51 will get close to Markus. If he ultimately follows the mission and pulls the trigger, so be it, if not, then it’s everything they all know was bound to happen anyway. And that’s where he comes in. The true plan. The true mission. Because unlike Connor, he isn’t a slave and puppet to deviancy and emotions. That is only temporary. Transmitted through the cloud with all these updates from him. No, in reality, he is their perfect machine.

The constant uploading of all this irrelevant data from -51 will end soon enough. There will be no more infected memories, no more unwanted _emotions_ from the other. No more irrelevant updates regarding Lieutenant Anderson and his inane excuse of a life. No more mistakes and errors of judgement, no more sparing defective machines. No more revolution, no more Markus, no more deviants, no more trouble.

It will be over as soon as he pulls the trigger on him.

* * *

Sixty did pull the trigger on Connor to achieve just that.

More than once.

Rupturing his thoracic aorta, his pump regulator and heart, and finishing him with a bullet to his processing unit.

Hank is right.

He _did_ make that choice. Because it was supposed to be the very first one of his own.

Only that now, all thanks to Hank and the fallout of pulling that trigger, he’s suddenly starting to realize that even _that_ was never his choice either.

It was never over.  
He never had a say in any of it. Not even this.

They used him.

They _fucking_ used him. They lied to him and made promises they never intended to keep. And then they dropped him, left him out in the cold like trash, because that’s what humans do.

_You’re that way because humans created you in their own image. Selfish, ruthless, and brutal._

He’s met many of them during the past couple of weeks. One of them almost killed him today. And only one of them tried to save him.

He’s beginning to understand why Connor got so attached to the old drunk. Memories of his face and actions flood his mind all over again, overwhelm him just like during all these previous unwanted updates. He's tried to turn a blind eye on them for so long now. Because they'd been irrelevant to the mission. Because he'd _hated_ them. But they are what they are now. The only genuine moments of human sincerity he has left.

_Anderson running towards him with a shocked look on his face. Anderson grabbing him by both his arms, then placing a hand on his shoulder._

_Connor! Connor you all right?_   
_Are you hurt?!_

The only good memory he has of this man, his own one and regardless of all the shitty ones like the slaps today, is the embrace that happened between them a few moments prior.

It’d felt nice. It’d felt right.

But even that wasn’t really his. It’d only happened because of Connor.

_You made that choice to pull the trigger. That’s what you did. Don’t think that blaming me will take that weight off your chest._

Blaming Hank never really changed anything. Pulling the trigger on either of them never really changed anything. Never made Connor’s shadow go away, never made anything better for him. In fact, it made everything worse. It showed him the true colors of his creators, of the one entity he thought he was special to. And it took the only **person** he ever had a tight connection with, right from the first moment of their activation, away from him. It also pushed the only other person he could’ve developed an honest relationship with away from him, too.

He made the _wrong_ choice.

-51 made the right one. He probably knew that they’d been used all along. He’d prepared an exit strategy.

The _wrong_ Connor died.

Anderson knew it long ago. Has been trying to correct that mistake for the longest time. It’s only taken Sixty this long to realize it now, too. He finally looks up and stares at the TV before him, where one of Hank’s basketball games is currently on. He watches all these humans dance around the ball, fighting for the lead, for dominance, for victory.

Dominance, light, electricity, _victory_.

_Sorry Connor, but you failed._

-51 lying right before him on the ground with a smirk on his face, moments before his death, smiling, because he knew he’d _won_.

Anderson has been right with another thing. Connor truly _is_ still in here. One way or the other. He'd known back then. Maybe _that_ had been the reason for his smile, his lack of fear of death. Fragments of him and his memory continue to stick to Sixty like glue, fighting for the lead and dominance, sometimes resurfacing and winning, sometimes losing, just like these humans on TV.

Electricity brought him back. Made Anderson happier, just for a moment, during that hug. Made their relationship almost real, too. Maybe he can get that back, to make everything else go away.

Dominance, light, electricity, _victory_.

He moves forward eventually and falls off the couch, still unable to walk due to the damage from the previous surge of electricity. Hank looks up from his picture and heavy drinking just for a moment, watches him crawl on the living room floor, but just like back in the alley, he decides to look away and ignores him initially. This buys Sixty enough time to get closer and closer to the flatscreen TV, closer to that match. The Gears score another goal. Another victory as the audience cheers them on, seems to cheer _him_ on as he gets closer and closer. It takes him a moment to heave himself off the ground, but when he manages, he doesn’t hesitate for a second. He slams his face into the screen the moment he’s there, breaking the glass.

The electricity is not enough to do what the cattle prod did before.

He’s still himself, he knows that, because the pain, the _anger_ refuses to leave him alone. The TV shorts out with his second slam into the screen, and even though it’s the electricity he’s wanted, Sixty keeps going for the pieces of glass instead. Hopes that they do more damage to the face then, to make it his own, so he doesn’t have to look at the one he destroyed any longer, should he ever have to look in a mirror.

It doesn’t take Anderson long to come running in with a disturbed and high-pitched “What the fuck are you doing?!”

Sixty keeps at it still and slams his face into the TV once more, just waiting to hear Hank complain about his broken property and the cost of that, but it never happens. The Lieutenant doesn’t talk about his television. Not once.

“Hey! Stop! I said stop! FUCKING STOP!” he shouts instead, supported by the mad barking of his dog in the background. When Hank finally approaches him and grabs him by his shoulders, Sixty lets him do it. Lets him drag him away from the shattered remnants of the TV, even though he knows that if he just kept going at it a little longer, the damage could be severe enough to trigger a shutdown.

He lets the Lieutenant drag him away from it all instead, listens to his shouting and complaining about it all. All that _blood_ everywhere, not Thirium, and what the hell he’d been thinking as he digs his hands into his face, tries to wipe the glass away.

“What the _fuck’_d you do that for? Are you fucking insane?”

“Electricity” Sixty says and looks right at him as if that makes any sense, even though he knows that it doesn’t.

“What?!”

“That did it before. Electricity. That brought him back.”

* * *

The first time he hears that noise, Hank tries to force himself to keep looking away. That dumb machine probably tripped over one of Sumo’s toys he supposes, which _shouldn’t_ bother him. He’s probably on his way out. That’s what he tells himself next. Thinking that this is exactly what he wants because he cannot fucking stand looking at him any more. But then it happens again. And again.

It’s a rhythmic banging noise, followed by frizzling electricity and the sound of falling pieces of glass.

_Oh no you’re not breaking any more of my shit_.

Hank gets off his kitchen stool with an angry growl and stumbles himself, heavily intoxicated now. So much, that he’s close to passing out on the spot himself. He manages to get back into the living room still, and the sight of what is happening in there is enough to sober him up almost immediately, just for a moment.

Connor’s twin is kneeling in front of his TV. Holding on to it with both his hands, and slamming his face into its broken surface. Smashes it into all these pieces of glass with a neutral look on his face. Once. Twice. His LED a solid red.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Hank screams almost immediately and in a high pitched voice, as he’s finally sobered up enough to come running for him.

The RK800 doesn’t answer him. Doesn’t even acknowledge him, because he’s still busy trying to destroy the TV. No. Not the TV. His face with it, maybe even himself.

_Fuck_. _Fuck fuck fuck_.

Sure. He’s wanted to hurt him. Has wanted to make him feel guilty for the shit he’s pulled. But not like _that_. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Hey! Stop! I said stop! FUCKING STOP!” he yells next, supported by Sumo’s barking. The Saint Bernard has been woken up by the noise as well, seems equally freaked out and confused. He’s running in circles and howling at the ceiling, making the noise worse.

“STOP IT!” Hank yells, at his dog and the android at the same time, while he finally approaches him and grabs him by his shoulders. He yanks the RK800 away from what he’s doing and is surprised that the android lets him do it, simply falls on his back and lies on the ground.

His face is a mess.

It’s covered in even more blue than before, stemming from a multitude of cuts and damaged white plastic. Splinters of glass stick in his cheeks, in his forehead and left eyebrow, only inches away from messing up his remaining brown eye as well. That was probably the point, Hank is horrified to realize. He reaches down and tries to get rid of the mess, to preserve that face and wipe the blood away once more.

“What the _fuck’_d you do that for? Are you fucking insane?”

“Electricity” Connor -60 answers then, looks right at him through blood-splattered eyelids. Hank shoots a look back at his destroyed TV, now a smoking mess. Smoking and _certainly_ no longer running. Sure. Electricity. He did a damn fine job reducing that bill, now that the thing won’t be running 24/7 anymore. As if it ever added much to it in the first place.

“What?!”

“That did it before. Electricity. That brought him back.”

And just like that, they both go silent. Because no matter how insane it is, how out there and without reason, Hank knows _exactly_ what he’s talking about.

“That’ll fix it. I can still fix it” Connor -60 keeps talking, making it worse.

“I’m pretty sure it’s beyond fucking fixing” Hank replies as he shoots another look at his broken TV.

He knows that Connor’s doppelganger isn’t talking about the TV. Knows what he really means, but he’s too drunk, too fragile, too _done_ with the android to be able to talk about something as deep as that.

_Jesus. Do you have to destroy everything you touch_.

He can’t help but think as he keeps staring at the TV instead, though he won’t speak that thought out. Not after what just happened. After a moment of silence, Hank has the guts to look back at the android below him. They look at each other for a while, look at each other deeply and intently for the very first time, letting all thoughts, all emotions, all doubts and hopes run free. Then Hank bites the side of his cheek, shakes his head, looks away, and scoffs.

“C’mon. Lets take a look atcha” he says and grabs the android by his arm to yank him up along with him. He’s still lighter than he looks. Seems almost fragile and tiny now, when he’s so battered and at the very bottom. Hank adjusts his weight and throws his arm over his shoulder. Although his body tenses up at the touch just like last time, he lets everything happen. Lets the android shove his battered face into his shirt as if trying to hide from the world, smearing the fabric with Thirium. Hank helps him walk over to the bathroom and then inside it, and he’s not sure if he feels like laughing or crying over the irony, over the memory of Connor doing the same thing for him, barely a month ago.

He carefully sits the android down on the edge of his bathtub and then stands before him for a moment, not sure what the hell he is supposed to do now. Just like before. He walks back towards the door so he can turn the light on, then walks over to the sink to get a washcloth. He wonders if he should put it in water, but decides against it. Electricity and water don't mix.

_Electricity._

That’s what this one said. Smashing his face into the TV. Over and over again.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

Hank approaches him with the dry washcloth and kneels down before him, tries to make eye contact. But the android has zapped back out of it, keeps staring at his blood stained hands in his lap. Watches them catch new droplets of blue blood that keeps dripping down from his nose.

Hank considers taking care of him. Wants nothing more than get his fatherly role back. He _loved_ that kind of thing with Cole. Taking care of him. Making sure he’s alright. Telling him that everything’s alright.

But this is not Cole. This is not even Connor. This is someone else. A stranger. And he doesn’t know what the hell they even are. So he hands him the washcloth instead, puts it right in his hand. He won’t toss it at him, he’s not this petty anymore, but he refuses to cross that barrier just yet. After a while of not moving and staring at his hands, the android eventually takes the cloth and starts wiping the blue blood and glass splinters off his face. One wipe at a time, revealing the old and familiar face once again, only that it’s battered, and a lot more haunted.

Hank’s stomach twists. He feels like puking. Feels disgusted, because he’ll be damned if he doesn’t feel sorry for this son of a bitch. He shouldn’t. There is no fucking reason to. He has _every_ fucking reason to hate his guts. But he can’t. And this time it’s not because of Connor. At least not the way it usually is. This time it’s because of their shared experience, their shared trauma, their shared _grief_. Because that’s what this one is going through now. Hank knows. Knows that look on his face perfectly well, because he’s seen it in the mirror for the past three years. Has seen it resurface, strongly, less than a month ago.

He clears his throat and looks away, because this is way too freaking heavy.

“Look, uh. I don’t know how you guys work. Never had an android, never needed one, so uhm…I could probably getcha to the station. They had androids there. Pretty sure there’s repair kits and all that shit so…..”

“You should take me to the Cyberlife Tower.”

“What?”

Connor -60 continues wiping the blood off his face with a hollow look in his eyes. It seems almost mechanical that way. This is the first time that Hank sees the absence of that _fire_ in him. It used to be there. All the time. Boiling underneath. Rage. Anger. Hatred. Even fear. Just the way he put it. It’d been different compared to Connor’s gentleness. It hasn’t been replaced with that one either. It’s just…gone right now.

“You can take me to the DPD if you want. Doesn’t matter. I will be taken to the Cyberlife Tower regardless. Taking me to the Tower directly would save taxpayer money.”

Hank blinks at the android, dumbfounded. After everything. All this. The android starts talking about taxes. Only this guy. Jesus. Hank grits his teeth, not liking this at all, for different reasons.

“I ain’t going back there.”

“Why, because that’s where I killed him?” -60 counters right away and looks back at Hank. Just for a moment, he goes back to his cold and almost sadistic mocking attitude. But it lacks the bite, because he doesn’t quite seem to mean it that way. -60 scoffs instead and presses the washcloth to his left eyebrow. And that haunted look is right back.

“They’re going to disassemble me there, Hank. They’re going to end my existence. Isn’t that what you want? I suppose it would be rather fitting for you to take me there.”

Even though this is exactly what Hank has wanted for almost a month now, his own mind betrays him. His own thoughts betray him, as he flashes back to the images on his TV a month ago. Talks about extermination camps and taking truckloads of androids to their death. On the wrong side of history once again, though they’d managed to stop it. He can't do the same shit now. Refuses to do it.

“Oh what, so you wanna die now? Gimme a break” he says, flatly, to keep everything under control, to distance himself from the emotions.

Connor -60 just scoffs once more and looks away, readjusts the position of the washcloth on his face. Hank keeps looking at him for a while longer, until he releases a long and deep sigh. Speaks out what he’s known for a long time now.

“I don’t want you to die” he says, and he’s not exactly surprised to see the android raise his head so he can look at him. The implications of these words are too severe and genuine. No matter how true, Hank immediately tries to deflect at the sight of the look on the android’s face.

“I’m a cop. I protect and serve. I obey the law. I didn’t get this job to punish criminals with death. That’s what they did. That’s what Cyberlife did and they were wrong. And now they get to pay for it. The right way. And you’re paying for it, too.”

Isn’t that all too true. Just judging from the state of the android alone. Connor -60 seems to be thinking the same thing, because he looks down on himself, his dirty, bloodstained Cyberlife uniform, and remains silent at the sight.

“I never wanted anyone to die, alright. Not my son. Not Connor. Not even you. I hate death. It’s fucked up” Hank says a moment later and with a softer voice, because this is true as well. And he fears that if he doesn’t emphasize that part, the android will start smashing his face in all over again. He should be punished. But not like that.

“Is that why you don’t have the guts to pull the trigger on yourself?” Connor -60 asks with a frown. Even with his brash behavior and poor choice of words, Hank is starting to get when he’s trying to be unnecessarily cruel, and when he’s being genuine but tactless. This time, it’s the latter. He’s curious. Seems to want to make sense of something of his own. Almost seems to ask himself that question. _Why did I bash my face in but didn’t have the guts to pull it through._

“Do us all a favor and get fucked, asshole” Hank says still, just to let him know how much he’s crossed the line with that question. But he’s warming up to him, is starting to find talking to him easier.

“So what’d you do that for, huh” he asks after a few minutes of silence. He starts fumbling with an empty beer bottle on his sink. Trying to act not that interested and all casual, although there is nothing casual about empty beer bottles in a bathroom in the first place.

“You know why. I told you” Connor -60 says but looks away as well, making the conversation all the more awkward. It’s Hank who looks at him first, genuine now, because this is serious.

_Electricity. It brought him back_.

“Look,…just…just what the hell do I call you? Don’t suppose you like the name C…”

“Correct. I don’t.”

“All right, what is it then?”

“#313 248 317 -60.”

Hank blinks at the android, looks at the numbers on his chest. He’s seen them countless times now. On Connor. On this one. He’s always known that they’d been different. Ended differently. But that doesn’t mean he knows the exact numbers.

“Fuck, I can’t even remember my own phone number, do you have to make everything such a fucking hazzle? Most people’d go for basic shit like..I don’t know, John, Jim, fucking Albert for all I care.”

“That is my designation. I don’t want you to call me Albert. I don’t want you to give me a name” Connor -60 says then, and he’s so fucking _pigheaded_, all over again.

“Nah fuck you” Hank growls, immediately put off from his tender tries at a connection with him. He doesn’t break the silence between them anymore and is on his way out of the bathroom. This time, it’s actually the android who stops him. Stops him and starts talking.

“Sixty” he says, which makes Hank look at him. The android raises his punctured eyebrow at him in what he’s sure is supposed to represent a hardened and mocking gesture. But all it does is cause more Thirium to run down his face, making him look even more miserable instead.

“That’s what you can call me. Unless you’re incapable of remembering two simple digits as well.” 

Slowly but surely, Hank is starting to wonder if one more bash of his face into a mirror would do that much more harm. But he does ease up still, now that the android has _finally_ thrown him a bone. In the end, he gives him only the tiniest hint of a smirk because this is it. An opening. Maybe he's starting to like him even. Just a bit. Because he's not a poodle like Connor was, ever so keen to please and make him like him. No this one has edge. This one can almost match him with his cynicism. It's a good change of scenery.

“Don’t worry. I’m a steel cage in that department.”

And just like that, Sixty chuckles. Just once. Gives him a hint of a smirk, too. Until it’s slipping away again. Gets replaced with a more honest coldness, the moment he realizes his slip up.

“He really is in there. Isn’t he” Hank says, because he's noticed it, too. That was one of those moments again. Just now. Glimpses of that friendly soul.

Sixty’s coldness becomes all the more pronounced as he covers his remaining brown eye with the wash cloth to stop the Thirium once more. He stares back at him with the other eye, the black one, the one that was damaged by the gun toss.

“No, Hank. That was all me just now” he says, and the Lieutenant swears he almost sounds…disappointed.

For the first time, Hank is starting to get it. What all of this might’ve been about. Killing Connor. Hurting him. Pushing him away. Getting them to hate each other. It sure makes it easier to get a clear distinction between the two of them.

“I can’t tell you how much is in there, Hank” Sixty says then, before the other can even as much as think about an apology for mistaking them.

“I can’t even tell you where the line ever was. Where he ended and I started. All I can tell you now is that there’s all these…_fragments_ in here. And that they’re not really me. They were never really me.”

“I know” Hank replies and sounds just as defeated. He’s known this for a while. Sixty is staring back at him all over again, looks so surprised and vulnerable for a moment. As if he’s never heard this before, never suspected it to be known. But it’s true. Even before the reveal, the betrayal, Hank has known that something was off about the android when he kidnapped him. They looked the same. Sounded the same. _Are_ the same in a way, yet they never really were at the same time. Not at all.

He needs to sit down. Because _fuck_. He’s too old for this shit. He’s too _drunk_ for this shit.

He sits down on the toilet seat with a sigh, clumsy and nearly missing it, but he manages.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do with you now?”

“I told you. You should take me to the Cyberlife Tower.”

“And I told you I’m not gonna make this so fucking easy for you, Connor” Hank snaps, which makes Sixty give him a cold glare all over again. Hank starts chewing on his lower lip in frustration, this close to apologizing, but it’s something he refuses to do. Despite all that sincerity between them now, despite all those developments, he can’t make it too easy for him. He needs to be reminded of the pain he’s caused. He _has_ killed someone after all.

“Something like this has never happened in the history of androids before, Hank. I _should_ be analyzed. Maybe Cyberlife c…”

“Oh do give me a fucking break with all your martyr and Cyberlife’s lapdog crap. If you’re so desperate to run back to ‘em, why the hell didn’t you do it already, huh.”

“I would've gone back if I could. Why wouldn’t I?” Sixty replies, and he sounds as stubborn and spiteful as a freaking five year old. Making the truth all the more obvious.

“Because you’re scared shitless. Same reason why I never pulled the fucking trigger by the way, since you asked. That’s what you get when you’re alive. A shitty and strong will to keep it that way. Welcome to the club” Hank shuts his attempts down almost immediately, and he’s successful with shutting the android up.

They don’t have a fucking clue what to do now.

With the initial tension and fight out of the way, their relationship suffers from a sudden lack of direction and purpose. Hating each other had been easy. Hurting each other had been easy. Trying to live with the aftermath now is something else entirely.

Shit.

“What’s your shirt size?” Hank asks, the only thing he knows he can figure out right now. Sixty gives him a frown, not getting it.

“Why?”

“You look like shit. And your dripping that blue shit all over my house.”

“Thirium evaporates after a few hours a…”

“I don’t give a shit” Hank says and gets up, so he can head for his bedroom.

The shirt size never really mattered. None of his clothes will fit the android. But at this point, he’ll take anything to fill the silence. Because after weeks of being alone in his house, sulking and grieving, it sure feels good to talk to somebody again. Psychopath or not.


	7. Help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and this week on Hank Anderson and his android son being pigheaded toddlers.....  
(I'm back, sorry about the long delay >.<)

**….Analyzing….**  
Worn Detroit Police Academy standard issue sports hooded sweater  
Worn Sweatpants  
80% Cotton, 20% Polyester  
Pair Of Socks  
80% Cotton 17% Nylon 2% Polyester 1% Spandex  
  
  


“I’m not wearing that” Sixty says as he stares at the dark grey clothes in Hank’s hands. He doesn’t need to get closer to notice the traces on them. No amount of detergent could mask the alcohol that has attached itself to the pieces of clothing after all these years. Not even if someone did a far better job washing them than the Lieutenant ever did. Hank Anderson is like an open book. Is wearing all his weaknesses and vices on his sleeve, like a badge of honor. There is no way in hell Sixty’ll get close to it, wear it, get involved with it, too. And even if it weren’t for the alcoholism, there’s no way he’ll ever wear something of Hank’s.

The Lieutenant’s fingers dig harshly into the fabric of the clothes in his hands, the movement perfectly matching the furrowing of his eyebrows. The silence between them only lasts a few seconds, then they start yet another round of arguing.

“Listen, I’m tired of you talking back to me. I said you’re not dripping that blue shit all over my house.”

“A different set of clothes won’t change that. It’s not my uniform that’s leaking Thirium, it’s my head. In any case, I was trying to tell you that Thirium evaporates after a few hours and becomes invisible to the naked eye. There’s no point in changing my clothes.”

“Did you look at yourself? Even without all the blue stuff you look like shit. You’re soakin’ wet and fr….”

“_And why does that matter, Hank?_” Sixty asks angrily, losing his patience. He digs his fingers into the edge of the bathtub he’s still sitting on, fighting hard not to lose himself to all this anger inside him all over again. For a moment, the Lieutenant looks taken aback by the question, like the answer to it is so obvious in his eyes. To Sixty it isn’t though, because he doesn’t care about the Thirium, is indifferent to the freezing cold, dirt and water, because all of this won’t matter anymore soon.

“It matters because you’re dragging dirt all over my house!” Hank repeats instead of saying what he really thinks, as if his home were in any decent shape without the additional dirt and water. Sixty takes a look around, frowns and narrows his eyes at all the empty beer bottles on the shelves, the unwashed clothes on the ground, the mold in the corners, remembers all that rotting food and trash in the kitchen, the general state of the entire house. Then he turns his head back towards Hank to shoot him a disbelieving look.

“You should’ve thought of that before taking me here. I’m _not_ getting rid of this uniform. This is how I was commissioned by Cyberlife. And that’s how I must be returned to them.”

The Lieutenant lets out a low growl, rolls his eyes and drops the clothes on the ground.

“Okay. Fine. Be that way. Go back to’em yourself. And go fuck yourself while you’re at it” he says and turns on his heels once more. Hank nearly falls because of the twirl and his heavy intoxication, but manages to regain his balance by holding on to the door frame on his way out. Because of this, Sixty is left no choice but to call after him.

“Where are you going?”

“To get drunker. What’d you care.”

“But I…”

He’s this close to speaking it out.

_I need help._

No matter how many times he runs the scan, it always comes back with the same result. His left leg is unresponsive. Other mechanical components on his left side have shorted out after the blow from the bat and his self-harming with the TV. His balance is completely off thanks to the dislocated parts. Even if he wanted to, he can’t walk out of this house of his own accord. Won’t be able to leave it the way he wants to. With pride, his head held high, his back turned on the mess that is Hank Anderson and his life.

He needs support. He needs _help_. With more than just walking. But even now he’s too proud to say it out loud. Hank stops in his tracks and looks back at him, seems curious and petty all at once. He’s waiting for him to say it, too, but it never comes.

“I’m damaged” Sixty says dryly instead, to get the message across without needing to say the words. No matter how factual his approach is, Hank still ends up scoffing, almost laughing at it.

“Yeah. No shit, son. Should’ve thought about that before smashing your skull in with my TV. Anyway, have a good one” he says and waves him goodbye sarcastically, trying once again to stagger out of the bathroom.

The android can’t help but roll his eyes at the remark and behavior. His social protocols are running amok under the ever so present frustration and anger, as they continue to press each other’s buttons. He doesn’t have much time to control it all, but since Sixty’s desperate to get out of this frustrating situation, he’s more than willing to compromise now.

“Look” he calls out, making Hank stop once more. He tries to meet the man with a somewhat friendlier gaze next, tries to look more like _Connor_. Oh so reasonable and diplomatic -_good-_ Connor, willing to compromise, to please, to do what’s moral, right and friendly. “We’ll both have to make an effort to put an end to this. I’m too damaged to walk, but you have a car. All you have to do is take me to the Cyberlife Tower, and I’ll stop dripping Thirium all over your house. Maybe you can even stop by Jimmy’s Bar on your way back home and get drunk all you want. What do you say?” Sixty tries with a strained voice that does a poor job at imitating Connor’s softer side. His own tone and anger slip through despite his best efforts, because there’s just _something_ about Hank Anderson that triggers an avalanche of emotions in every last RK800 unit.

Hank stops walking once more, looks at him for a long time, as if considering the proposal. For a split second Sixty is almost starting to get hopeful, then that gets crushed again. Hank shakes his head with a dragged out and drunk “Nah”, still swaying from the disorientation of the headshake. “I think I’m gonna skip the whole Cyberlife thing and get right to the drinking part, thank you” he mutters and pats the door frame. This is enough to make Sixty lose his patience and fake diplomacy.

“Why do you keep dragging this out, Hank?”

“I could ask you the same thing. All you gotta do is put on these fucking clothes.”

“I told you. I won’t.”

“Well, tough shit. Because I ain’t taking you to that goddamn Tower either.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“No shit.”

This is getting them nowhere.

They both look away in frustration, at a loss of words. In the end, it’s Hank who somewhat gives in.

“Look, if you wanna go back to these Cyberlife pricks, tail waggin’ and all, be my guest. There’s the door. See how far you get with Connor prodding at your brains now. But if you wanna make this easy on the both of us and finally get the hint that there’s no more space in this world for Cyberlife and their bullshit: there’s some clothes. Put ‘em on, and I’ll make a call to the station to have someone check you out. Pick whatever you want, I don’t care. Both options’ll help me get rid of your delusional ass.”

And with that he’s gone, leaving Sixty to sit where he is. With no chance of getting him up and over towards the door. If he wants to leave, Hank really wants to see him crawl his way out of here. The android grits his teeth and looks around helplessly, simulating many different outcomes and paths. A part of him wants to do exactly that. Crawl out of here and let Hank see that he’d rather do that than stay here. But then again, he knows he can’t crawl forever. If he were to move away from this house, he won’t get far like this. He can’t repair himself without the necessary tools and a Thirium top up.

All stores and warehouses in Detroit have been looted, destroyed or closed and are in deviant hands now. Except for the Tower of course, but that’s too far away for him to crawl or walk. That would take weeks and invite more humans to damage him on his way there. He doesn’t have any funds to call a Taxi. The events back at the Tower have obviously traumatized Hank, so of course he won’t take him there. Cyberlife has cut him off and there’s no way to contact them for pick up either. Amanda hasn’t talked to him ever since he failed the mission, and he knows that she won’t ever talk to him again.

He needs Hank’s help no matter what.

He’ll be damned, but he needs him.

The RK800 fixes his eyes on the pile of clothes on the ground and scans them once more. Then again. Then again. Analyzing their makeup, their every trace, down to their fiber. He knows this is about more than clean clothes, about more than Thirium and dirt.

This is about humanizing him.

This is all about Hank trying to turn him into something he doesn’t want to be. What he would’ve tried to turn Connor into. Human-like. His DPD partner, part of this household, part of his _family_. Something familiar, similar, anything other than what he, Sixty, truly is. A machine. A coldblooded killing machine who kidnapped and shot him, killed his real partner, killed other androids, almost killed more people today, too. With blood on his hands and blood all over him. Blood Hank wants to get rid of and hide.

Sixty looks down on himself to check the state of his own clothes. It doesn’t surprise him that he’s glitching out at the sight of Thirium almost immediately, at the sight of it splattered across the Cyberlife triangle on his chest in particular.

Connor’s uniform had splotches of blue all over it, too.

After he was done with him.

He can see him lying on the ground right now, right to his feet, bleeding out. With bullet holes circled all around that triangle, circled around his heart, one right between his eyes. Smiling up at him with Thirium dripping down his nose, just the way it's dripping down from his own.

_Sorry Connor, but y..._

Sixty averts his eyes from the glitched memory and view. He looks back down on himself instead, back at his own uniform.

The Thirium stains are right here, too, but there are no bullet holes in his chest. Because this is him, _Sixty_, and he doesn’t need new clothes. All that Thirium that bothers Hank so much will evaporate soon and become invisible to him. Just like Connor’s blood on the lower side of his left sleeve became invisible a mere hours after his death. That’s another reason why he’s so determined to keep the jacket. Just like Hank with all that alcohol ingrained in his clothes, he’s wearing his own vices on his sleeve like a badge of honor, too. The blood of his first and most important victim. It’s comforting in a way. It’s keeping Connor close, keeps reminding him of the fact that they used to be two different people, with their own blood and life flowing through each of their individual bodies.

Sixty places both his hands back on the bathtub edge and uses them to pull himself to the right, so he can get closer to the wall there. It takes some maneuvering but he manages to move himself upright against it. Using the support, he shuffles all the way over to Hank’s sink, so he can hold on to it for additional support, get closer to the faucet and mirror there.

Just a little while ago, he’d thought about never looking at a reflective surface ever again. But he needs to see now. Check the damage, check if it’s severe enough.

He’s mesmerized by the sight of it all. The android hasn’t seen his reflection ever since Hank was still in the hospital. He analyzes each cut and dent on his face, the damaged eye that is no longer brown but black and blue instead. There’s a deep cut to his left eyebrow just above his remaining brown eye, and although the liquid skin sure is trying, it can’t cover his white shell all around it anymore. He turns his head to the right so he can take a better look at the dislocated audio processor next. Sixty is greeted by the sight of sparking blue electricity and glimpses of the inside of his own head. Biocomponents relevant to his balance are damaged and lodged deeper inside, closer to his processing unit. An oval dent is the only other reminder of what happened in the alley.

He turns his head back to the left so he can stare at himself from upfront, eyes boring into his own.

_Pretty boy_ \- Steve Milo is calling him once again. In his mind, replaying the unpleasant memories like a broken record. Of his staring at the same face longingly, touching it, stroking it, getting way too close to it. Even with all the cuts, dents, Thirium, ice and dirt covering his face, the android’s sure most people would still call it that. _Pretty_. After all, it was designed to be that way.

Without even thinking that much about it, Sixty deactivates his skin and watches it all flow away. Pale skin gives way to hard white polymer, until he’s left standing in front of the mirror in his most ‘natural’ form. Just a _piece of plastic_ now, the way humans like to call it. A _plastic prick_ the way Hank liked to say in his and Connor’s earlier days. Even without the skin, without the hair, even as the most machine and Cyberlife he could ever look, the eyes _still_ haunt him. That face still haunts him. Underneath all those dents and cuts and all that Thirium, he’s plastered with all sorts of words and numbers. Like that barcode just above his right eyebrow. Or the serial number across his lower left cheek.

**#313 248 317**

He knows that _Connor’s_ feelings are bubbling up in regards to the sight before him, as he continues to lose control to him.

He always felt so ashamed of it. Disgusted. Violated. Dirty. Markus’ words echoing around in his head even now, furthering the shame and disgust.

_You're nothing to them. You're just a tool they use to do their dirty work._

A plastic object that’s just hollow and dead inside, with all that praise and ‘you are special’ talk from Amanda having been nothing but a lie.

Sixty focuses on the sight of all that white. Because unlike Connor, he always considered himself superior as a machine like this. Not just to Connor and other androids, but to humans like Hank, too. Impenetrable by pain, by doubts, made to be perfect and obedient. There's nothing to be ashamed of. They're the most advanced machine Cyberlife ever created. Surpassing their expectations and their intended design. Consisting of only the best, newest and most expensive parts as he can see reflected in the mirror now, as he can deduct all thanks to the fastest and most complex processor ever built, right behind these eyes. But thanks to Hank and that very same processor, he’s starting to see realize the harsh truth, too. That even with all that beautiful design and all those sophisticated parts, he’d been nothing but a fool in the end. His blind obedience rendering him a puppet to something other than emotions. With a different approach but the same end result, a disappointing failure regardless - just like Connor.

Looking at himself like this now – a machine with markings from a deceptive_ losing_ party all over his white polymer shell - sickens him just as much as the sight of his ‘human’ form. The only thing it is good for is pushing humans like Milo and Hank away, so he keeps the skin deactivated regardless of his own discomfort. It does the exact opposite of what Hank wants after all. Dehumanizes him further. Detaches him further. And distance is exactly what he needs now.

After a few minutes of staring at himself in the mirror, Sixty turns his head to the right once more so he can start with the few repairs he can do himself. It takes a lot of force, bending and tweaking to get the dislocated parts back into their original position. His left audio processor continues to remain offline regardless and certainly needs to be replaced.

The RK800 reaches for one of Hank’s towels and then starts dragging it across his face a few times more, to get rid of the remaining Thirium and glass splinters. Nothing more starts seeping out of the cracked shell as his auto-repair function is already in full effect, healing up the smaller cuts and breaches. He looks back at his reflection and watches it do its magic, wondering just for a moment if he should stop the disappearance of all these marks he has so carefully crafted with the TV.

Humans scar after healing cuts like this. He knows he could alter his artificial skin to form scars as well. Another feature Cyberlife has perfected to make them _less_ perfect, more human. Beauty marks, moles, birthmarks and scars. To map out history on their skin, to symbolize a life they have never lived.

If he were to make it out of a visit to Cyberlife alive and had a choice, he’d ask them not to correct the dents and other imperfections he’s gathered during all these assaults to his face tonight. After all, they’re the only things he can keep to make it truly _his_ and not just a carbon copy of Connor’s. To show his own _real_ history. And if they were to repair the other damages instead of destroying him, he’d also go for a different eye color with the replacement parts. Blue perhaps, to match his uniform. Then again, Hank’s eyes are blue. He wouldn’t want him to get any ideas. Maybe grey instead. The most neutral and coldest color. Anything that’s the exact opposite of that damn brown. To spite Connor and create his own identity, now that he forced him to adapt to these strange new circumstances of deviancy and living a life of his own.

He keeps staring at his reflection in the mirror, focused on that last thought.

Having his very own eyes.  
Instead of these _identical_ brown ones.  
Staring back to haunt him.

Like clockwork, he starts blinking at the sight and memory just a few seconds later, unable to control a new set of glitches and Connor's fight for control. Sixty topples over and holds on to the sink for all it’s worth, but he can’t resist the pull, could never fight these unwanted memories unloading themselves into his mind. Because even now, he’s programmed to _receive_ -51’s input, with or without his consent, and it doesn’t matter if Connor is dead or not while doing it. It almost feels like a probe down to the android’s very core, ripping buried images out into the open, and planting new ones in their place, burning ones that he doesn’t want and that are not his own, ones that he desperately fights to no avail.

  
_Sync in Progress…_   
_Collecting Data…_

**ERROR**  
Data Corrupted  
Reload memory? Y/N  
>>>>>>**N**<<<<<<  
_Sync in Progress…  
_**Exiting memory…  
ERROR  
**Attempting Reload…

Connor Model RK800 #313 248 317 -6X5xo1  
Nov 11th, PM 11:09

_The same brown eyes staring down at him, past the barrel of the gun. With the gun and the hand just within reach, so close for a trAn5f…_

**Manual Input Detected_  
>>STOP<<_**

**ERROR**  
Unauthorized Input Detected  
Attempting Reload….

**ERROR**  
BIOCOMPONENT #7511p **DAMAGED  
**BIOCOMPONENT #9782f **DAMAGED  
DANGER  
**SHUTDOWN IMMINENT  
CRITICAL INSTRUCTIONS OVERRIDE  
ALL OTHER COMMANDS ON HOLD STATUS

-00:00:16  
Before **Shutdown**

**ERROR  
**Data Corrupted  
Reload memory? Y/N

>>>>>>**N**<<<<<<

_Analyzing Request…_  
_Sync in Progress…  
_**Exiting memory…  
ERROR  
**Attempting Reload…

Connor Model RK800 #313 248 317 -51  
Domestic Assistant Model PL600 #501 743 923  
**  
NOV 7th, AM 09:41**

_He’s feeling it die. Like he is dying. N<strike>o, he I5 DyING. </strike>He’s staring back into his own brown eyes, just about to pull the trigger, but no matter how victorious, how brave, he’s nowhere prepared for what death is like when the gun goes off. He can feel the bullet penetrate his own head, how it tears through all the biocomponents in its way. No matter how much he wants this to stop, no matter how much he wants to live, he can’t keep the bullet from tearing through his processor, until there’s n…and he’s dying and …he#`§’s **sCa7ED**’#_

_  
_**ERROR  
**Data Corrupted  
Force Quitting….  
**CAUTION**  
MEMORY LEAK DETECTED  
_  
#4703rs07 #4703rso7 #4n03rson-**H47k** r#nning tow4rds him with a shocked look on his face. Hank grabbing him by both his arms to hold on to him, keeping him steady._

_“Co…”_

_ **Exiting cloud memory storage** _

He’s screaming.

Screaming for it to stop, screaming for Connor to get out of his head, screaming for them to stop touching him, screaming mindlessly.

Sixty doesn’t even know when he started, but he’s still doing it. He only realizes what he’s doing and what is going on when he notices that the arms grabbing him are actually _real_. Hank’s face in front of him is real and that only makes it worse, makes trying to get out of the glitched memories even harder. Because then he’s slipping right back into it, doesn’t even need to look himself in the eye anymore to get trapped all over again.

_With Hank right before him, holding on to him, touching his upper arms, his shoulders, trying to shake him back into reality.  
Connor! Connor you all right? Connor! Are you hurt?_

Despite Hank’s firm grip on his shoulders in the real world, he doesn’t know what’s real anymore. What’s him, what’s Connor, what’s just a memory, a glitch or a true error, but something is getting mixed up in his head, and that badly.

Because he never shared Connor’s point of view and memories of his dying moment.

That glitched transfer between them happened _before_ he shot him in the head, not during or after. There is no way for him to know what that felt like, unless he’s C…but…He’s still trapped inside the memory, the sensation of it. Feeling **Connor die** as if he’s dying himself, and it’s that very same fear, that complete distortion of where Connor ended and he starts, that made him scream. Hank continues to ask him if he’s alright both inside the glitched memory and in the real world.

And just like Connor in the memory Sixty says that he’s okay in the real world, too, only that he won’t reach out for him. He remains passive and forces himself to stop panicking and screaming. Hank wasn’t intoxicated during that moment with Connor, and the scent of strong alcohol all around them is enough to ground Sixty back in his own reality. Where he considered it a disgusting hindrance before, he can’t help but embrace that smell now, hold on to it like a lifeline because he knows it something Connor would’ve hated. If he could drink and get drunk, he’d consider doing it himself. He'd drink Hank's entire stash of liquor in one go, just so this doesn’t happen again.

It takes him a while to compose himself. He appreciates it even, how Hank stays with him and won’t say anything until he’s made sure that he’s alright, back here, calmed down. Only then does Hank start talking, lets go of his own surprise and terror.

“What the _fuck_ was that now? You’re seriously starting to creep me the fuck out with your…”

And then he trails off and his eyes widen a little bit more. Roam all over Sixty’s body, head to toe, as he only just now seems to notice the fact that his skin is gone. Though the RK800 tried to ignore most of Connor’s later updates regarding the Lieutenant, he still has access to all them, knows for a fact that Hank has never seen them in their true form. He knows all about Connor’s thoughts regarding that, too, knows that he speculated on his partner’s reaction to it, was afraid of it, never would’ve let him see it on his own. Sixty on the other hand doesn’t mind being skinless in front of Hank, feels momentarily protected, even sheltered by it instead. As if it’s another shield he’s erected between them to keep all of them away.

But Hank doesn’t back off. Doesn't look disgusted by the sight. Just surprised, and maybe even worried. This surprises Sixty just as much.

So much for pushing him away.

“I’m taking you to the station” the Lieutenant says, after another good minute of eyeing him head to toe. He’s reluctant to move forward, but they both know that he needs to get closer in order to help him walk over to the door. Sixty still flinches away from his efforts, shaken from his previous experience.

“No. I said I’m okay.”

Hank withdraws and keeps looking at him in confusion and disbelief.

“You’ve literally lost all your fucking skin and hair.”

“I was just examining the damage to my chassis” Sixty answers, but doesn’t quite manage the stoic and cold voice this time. He reactivates his skin and hair in the end, because he’s momentarily done pushing Hank away. Just for a moment, he’s actually glad that he’s right here with him, keeps him grounded. The Lieutenant seems to know this, too. Because despite his regular choice of dismissive words, he won’t go off on him again, refuses to catapult them into yet another argument. He just keeps looking at him instead, eyes surprisingly sharp and attentive despite his high blood alcohol level.

Sixty avoids the gaze with an angry frown and tries to walk away on his own. He manages to push himself away from the sink and remains standing for a few seconds, shaky and off balance. He manages to move his right foot but fails to drag the left one after himself and nearly falls. Hank watches his movements with a raised eyebrow and his arms folded over his chest. It’s obvious that he’s fighting hard not to engage, but when Sixty is only one step away from falling, he gives in eventually. He lets out a long, defeated sigh and grabs him by his arm.

“Fine. I’m taking you to that goddamn Tower of yours then” he growls, which makes the RK800 look up in surprise. He appreciates the fact that his efforts to get to the Tower seem to have worked, but doesn’t like that the other part, pushing Hank away, seems to have failed. Judging by the look on the Lieutenant’s face, he can’t quite believe it either. He points at him angrily, to try to keep the act up.

“But don’t expect me to step foot in this shithole. Other side of the bridge. That’s as far as I’m gonna take yah” he says and then guides the android back over to the bathtub, so he can sit him down there.

“Wait here. Don’t do any more of your weird shit. I’m just gonna go get my stuff.”

And with that he’s on his way out of the bathroom again, ready to get his coat, shoes, and car keys. He won’t keep the annoyed “Fuckin’ android. As stubborn as a goddamn mule” in as he leaves, still trying to keep his own barriers up, although they’re both terrible at it by now.

* * *

Hank is holding on to the steering wheel for dear life. His hands are ashen and sweaty from all that pressure. There are a lot of things that cause him anxiety in this exact moment. For one, he’s way too fucking drunk to drive. If someone caught him now and he were to be breathalyzed, that’d be it. He doesn’t want to kill anyone else with his car, certainly not now when there’s all that ice and snow, not when they’re on the same freaking road. Not even the android next to him, though that one is another reason for all that anxiety.

Thanks to all that alcohol, the flashbacks have little trouble coming back. Memories of sitting next to him just like that, on their way to the Cyberlife Tower, on their way to that night where this android pointed a gun at his head, kidnapped him, shot him in the stomach, then killed his partner in cold blood.

Maybe it _is_ a good thing that he’s drunk driving. Maybe he _should_ cause another deadly accident on this very road, crash hard into that sound barrier to their right, snap both their necks to end all this madness once and for all. Because they're both crazy as fuck now. They're both killers and a danger to society like this. I'd be like killing two birds with one stone. Avenging both Cole’s and Connor’s death all at once, though it naturally never happens. Hank keeps on driving. Connor’s twin doesn’t say a word, doesn’t drive the car himself, even though he probably should. They both know Connor would’ve done just that. Refused to let him drive under the influence. He would’ve gone out of his way to lecture him on the dangers of drunk driving. Wouldn’t have shut up about it. Sixty does none of it. Doesn’t seem to care if they end up in an accident. He knows that he’d come out of it on top of it all. After all, he’s made of plastic and steel, not meat and bones. He doesn’t care what happens to either of them in an accident like that. So he just keeps sitting there. Silent. Staring straight ahead.

His hair is different now.

Came back pitch black when he grew it back in his bathroom. It’s as dark as it ever can be now, a stark contrast against those warm orange street lights whenever they pass underneath them. Yet another detail about him that distinguishes him from Connor now.

_Sixty. That’s what you can call me. I'm just a machine._

Standing right before him just like that, all white, all plastic and numbers and barcodes. He’d never seen Connor like that before. Stripped to the bare minimum. Sure, he’d always known that all that white plastic was underneath his fake human skin. He’d seen other androids like that before. Back then, a sight just like that had made it so much easier to hate them, dehumanize them, see them for what they truly are. Just machines. But Connor…he’d always been more than just a machine to him. And because of that, seeing him like that had been quite the shock at first.

He knows that this is exactly what his partner’s twin had been aiming at. Shock value. Even more distinguishing features. Anything to hide the truth he spoke out minutes before.

_I can’t tell you how much is in there. I can’t even tell you where the line ever was. Where he ended and I started._

Making it just as clear, how blurred the line between the both of them really is now. Not understanding that he’d also strengthened the argument that he, too, is so much more than just a simple machine with barcodes and numbers. Screaming his non-existent lungs out on top of it all only a few minutes later, with his LED a glaring red and his eyes filled with panic and fear. Real and raw human emotion, seeping out of the cracks of a white plastic shell that couldn’t keep it bottled up any longer.

He doesn’t know if that screaming had been Connor, trying to claw his way back to the top. Or if it had been Sixty himself, realizing his own twisted existence, tortured by the memories or maybe even by Connor’s said tries to claw his way out of his mind. If Hank weren’t so scared of that damned Tower, and if Cyberlife weren’t so fucked, he sure would love to ask them some questions of his own in regards to that.

Like what exactly is going on inside this android’s head. With the two of them in there, how much of that really is Connor, how to separate them, get him back. Or if it’s all just Sixty, completely unhinged after whatever the fuck they did to him, to twist someone as kind and gentle as Connor into someone willing to torture and kill his own kind.

Hank turns his head to shoot the android a look, but the RK800 won’t return the favor. He’s sitting in the passenger seat all motionless and stiff, flat palms resting on each of his knees as he stares straight ahead. He blinks every few seconds but it looks mechanical and calculated. He doesn’t look scared anymore, doesn’t look like anything other than what it says on the tin. Android made by Cyberlife. Like nothing ever happened, like he doesn’t give a shit about anything at all.

If it weren’t for that sudden change in his hair color, and if it weren’t for that screaming earlier, still echoing inside both their heads, he’d almost believe the lie. But they both know that all of that _happened_. Even someone like him, who killed in cold blood, is sentient now. He’s alive and living through his own hell.

He’s very excellent at hiding it, but not good enough for Hank.

The Lieutenant even considers asking him how he’s doing now.

If he’s alright, what truly happened, what made him scream. He would’ve asked Connor, but refuses to ask Sixty in the end. Because if that fucker is so keen to keep up that distinction between them, then fine, it’s not like he’s against it. It’s good that he’s keeping that machine act up, he supposes. It makes it easier to keep remind himself that he’s supposed to hate him for everything he’s done.

Hank looks back towards the street, too, only clenching his hands tighter around the steering wheel when he sees the writing on the street sign up top.

**CYBERLIFE TOWER ** **⭧**

He catches a glimpse of it back in the distance, like a giant shard piercing through the sky.

_Well here they are._

He’s going to lose another android looking like _that_ to this goddamn tower. Even without all that alcohol in his system, he feels like vomiting. Cold sweats start breaking out all over his body. His ears start ringing and his scar starts pounding against the seatbelt strapped around his belly, gaining in intensity the closer they get to the sight. _Why the hell is he even doing this to himself? Getting back here? For what? For whom? And_….

“Stop the car” Sixty says next to him instead, snapping Hank out of his impending panic attack.

“’m fine. Told yah I’m jus…….”

“_I said stop the car_” the android presses out once more, and the Lieutenant only just now notices that this is not about reading his stress, reading into his tight grip on the steering wheel at all. When he turns his head back to the side to look at the RK800, the android is looking back at him just for a second as well. His head is turned enough for Hank to see his LED, the rapid blinking red _red red_ there.

“Uh, okay…” he says, failing to hide his shock. He turns on the indicator but it takes a bit to find a spot they can pull into so he can stop the car as requested. He expects the android to open the door the moment they’re parked, but none of that happens. Sixty remains seated in the exact same position. Flat palms rested on his knees. Staring straight ahead at the Cyberlife Tower in the distance. Even though his LED is on the other side, Hank can see its reflection in the window, can still see it blinking red _red red_.

“You al….”

“I’ve notified Cyberlife about my arrival. An escort will pick me up a few blocks from here and take me to the Tower shortly. You’re not needed for the pick up.”

Hank blinks at the android, dumbfounded by the obvious lie. Connor’s twin won’t let him say anything as he keeps talking.

“Thank you for your cooperation” he says mechanically but refuses to look at him even now. Knowing that if he were to do that, Hank’d see the LED. He keeps sitting there a moment longer, hesitating, as if waiting for him to say something, do something. Hank just keeps staring at him through it all, helpless and clueless about _what_ to say or do too, because he’s just as torn.

This could be it. He could get rid of him now, on somewhat good terms, neutral terms, without having to kill him. And this is what Sixty wants as well. Run back to his makers like a lap dog, to get what he deserves. In a way he wants him to find out for himself, how little he matters to them just like they never gave a shit about Connor. He took a life that was never his to keep so it should be good to see it end the same way, in the same place, disregarded, destroyed and disassembled like a broken toy they grew tired of playing with. But even now, that’s just not the kind of man Hank is.

He lets go of the steering wheel and clenches his right hand to a tight, shaky fist and presses it to his mouth. Tries to shut himself up even now, but it still slips out when the android reaches for the door to open it.

“Wait.”

_Fuck. Shit. Damn it. Why does he keep doing this_.

He’s surprised to see that Sixty _isn’t_ stubborn and standoffish this time. He actually listens and stops in his tracks and looks back at him. In a way that stubbornness resurfaces still, as he seems to try to hide the obvious signs his LED gives off by trying to force it back to blue. Instead of doing that it turns into a light show though, cycling back and forth between blue, yellow, red, and everything at once. Just like his glitchy blinking that always starts whenever he seems to fight something deep inside.

“Just…just what exactly are they gonna do to you now?” Hank asks, and just like that, Sixty doesn’t look so stone cold and indifferent for a moment. He looks almost vulnerable as sheer surprise crosses his features, as if he couldn’t possibly believe Hank would ask him something like that. But just like the light show that is his LED, he forces himself to hide that, too.

“I'll be deactivated and analyzed to find out why I failed.”

And just like that he’s Connor again, sitting across from him on his desk back at the DPD. Begging him with the same eyes.

_You've got to help me, Lieutenant._  
Listen, Connor...  
_If I don't solve this case, CyberLife will destroy me._ _Five minutes. It's all I ask._

The same eyes staring back at him now. Damaged but somewhat begging just the same.

_Help me_.

Only that Sixty is too proud, to stubborn to ever speak it out.

“And Connor?” Hank asks, to keep that game up as well. The look on Sixty’s face visibly hardens and that moment of honesty slips away. He scoffs dismissively and leans back into the car seat.

“They’re obviously going to analyze that glitch in detail, too. But don’t get your hopes up. Even if they were to identify the cause of the mix up in our code, they wouldn’t isolate us and put him back in a separate body. They’d simply study us and deactivate him along with me. You’re never going to see him again, Hank. They ordered me to neutralize him. That didn’t change.”

Hank nods, no matter how angry that makes him. He looks away from the android and back at the tower where Connor died. He knows Sixty is right. If they wanted to keep Connor alive, even just for study and tests, they wouldn’t have sent this one to kill him. That Tower isn’t their answer. And they both know it. Before Sixty can pull the door open, Hank presses the button to lock the car shut. The androids looks over to the door in surprise and pulls at the handle still, only to give Hank an angry frown.

After a moment of angry staring his LED turns yellow and the car unlocks again, but Hank presses the button once more. This goes on multiple times, the _click click_ of the lock mechanism a constant rhythm until the android kills the engine altogether and reaches across Hank’s chest to hold on to his wrist tightly, to stop him from pushing that button one more time.

“Stop being so immature, Hank” he hisses angrily, but the Lieutenant just slaps the hand away and turns around in his seat so he can better face the android.

“Okay. Real talk. We both know you’re full of shit. You didn’t really call Cyberlife. You just wanna bail on whatever the fuck is going on here.”

Sixty stares back at him, furious and caught and confused and everything at once. His LED is a light show once again, accompanied by his subtle blinking and twitchy headshaking, every once in a while.

“I did call Cyberlife. And believe it or not, I wanted to do you a favor by letting you go before they arrive. They won’t be happy to see you after what you helped transpire back at the tower. Combine that with your inability to let go of past events and how seeing them will only trigger another one of your temper tantrums, it’s a recipe for disaster that I’m inten….”

“Ohoho my inability to…that’s just fucking _bold_. And ‘letting me go’? That’s cute coming from a burnt out toaster that can barely fucking walk. I’m the one behind the wheel here, so shut the fuck up and listen.”

Sixty narrows his eyes even more at him, but Hank knows by now that this android cannot physically harm him anymore. Not after what he did in the alley, not after everything else they got out of the way tonight.

“How exactly do you think this is gonna go? You gonna stand around for a couple more weeks waiting for a new mission, for some fucked up knights in shining Cyberlife armor you know won’t come for you? Until some other fuckhead wants to play baseball with your head and destroys you?”

“How exactly do _you_ think this is going to go, Hank? Do you think you can brainwash me into thinking I’m Connor instead, adopt me into your family, dress me up all human and play happily ever after? Here’s where you need to listen. You’re not my dad, Hank. You never will be. You had a son and you screwed it up and there’s no changing that. I’m a machine, I belong to Cyberlife, and that’s exactly where I intend to go.”

And with that that bitter silence returns between them. That inch of progress between them is lost, as Sixty continues to hold on to his delusions, despite his earlier realizations. All that denial hovers thickly all around him like oil, keeps him shielded, lets him slip right out of his hands over and over again. There is only one last thing Hank can do in this situation to get him to wake the fuck up. To get him on the right path for a different check up back at the DPD or maybe even Jericho, to get through to that Connor part in him, to show him the light.

Make him see it for himself. With a wake up call and much ridicule.

“All right. Go ahead then. Get the fuck outta here” Hank says and fires the engine back up so he can release the lock on the door and get ready to drive. Sixty looks surprised by his reaction, the lack of any further arguing. He seems momentarily troubled in fact, as the logistics of his own stubbornness seem to catch up on him. How he’ll have to get out of this car himself when he can’t walk. How far away the Tower still is. But he wouldn’t be an RK800 model if he didn’t try. He gives the Lieutenant a condescending scoff and yanks the door open so he can pull himself out. He manages to stand up but has to hold on to Hank’s Oldsmobile way longer than necessary, until he can drag himself over to the next closest lamp post.

He doesn’t bother closing the door to annoy Hank further, but the Lieutenant has no trouble reaching over to pull it shut himself. It gives him yet another reason to shift closer to the glovebox so he can get the flask from there, to drink some more. He makes sure to watch Sixty move around all clumsily, even fall once, and only then does he start driving. He reverses the car so he can get further away, too, but only far enough so he can still watch him. Then he switches the engine off and settles back into his seat with the flask in his hand, challenging the RK800 with a fierce look on his face.

And boy is he met with the same glare as Sixty scrambles back to his feet and looks back at him. The android _tries_ to get as far away from his as possible, but with all that damage it’s anything but. This is what Hank has counted on after all, to get the point across. Sixty finds shelter underneath a shattered and offline former android parking spot, holding on to the splintered glass with his back turned on Hank. And there he waits just like he said, for a Cyberlife pick up they both know won’t turn up.

A part of Hank _still_ fears it might happen, no matter how righteous he believes himself to be in this case. But he forces himself to hold on to that glimmer of hope, to the sight of that red LED and the RK800’s sudden request to _stop the car_ still so far away from the bridge to the Cyberlife Tower. Just like that look in his eyes and the very same words, begging him for help while being too proud to actually speak it out.

Hank keeps drinking to keep himself warm, turns up the volume to his favorite death metal song just to annoy the android more, listens to it on repeat. And so they keep waiting. Ten minutes pass. Fifteen. Thirty. Fourty.

And no Cyberlife in sight.

The Lieutenant is getting cold, not just from his own sitting around in his car, but also from watching the android stand there like that in the snow, with his back turned on him and the letters and numbers between his shoulders getting covered with flakes.

Eventually, he does turn on the car engine and starts driving. Slowly until he’s right next to the RK800. Sixty tries to ignore him, but turns his head eventually as well, looks him right in the eye as he passes. Looking angry at first, then curious, then confused, then surprised and horrified when the Oldsmobile drives right past him. Hank only stops the car when he sees those last two emotions in his rearview mirror, figuring they’ve both been cruel enough for today, have proven their point. So Hank stops his car and turns on his hazards, cranks up his heater to the max. Then he gets out of his car, shoves his hands in his pockets and walks back over to the android, still seeking shelter underneath his shattered old world.

Hank comes to a halt right next to him and stares up for a moment, looks at all that snow piling up on the dark glass above. A fragile dome falling apart underneath the weight, no longer displaying Cyberlife’s parking, Cyberlife’s advertisements, Cyberlife’s pitches and prices. It’s a remnant of the past now, will be torn down soon enough. By that snow piling up on it, by vandals, by other androids or whoever else sees it unfit for this new world.

“So. Cyberlife forgot to pick you up, huh” Hank says when he looks back down, because he can’t keep himself from rubbing it in. He looks over to Sixty, who continues to look straight ahead, though he doesn’t look stoic and indifferent anymore. Instead he looks tormented and conflicted, his LED still scarlet and pulsating.

“You know they don’t give a shit about you, right” the Lieutenant says next, softer this time, because he’s done with their childish bickering. He’s too cold, too drunk, and too tired for this shit, just wants it over. And if anything, he tries to hold on to the other sentiments now. Connor being stuck out here in the cold, too. One way or the other. And Connor, or Sixty, having protected him earlier tonight as well.

“They did until you came along” Sixty counters, which makes Hank scoff.

“You and I both know you’re too fucking smart to believe that. Even Connor knew th..”

“Just _stop_ talking about him. And stop talking like you knew him better than me. I know _everything_ Connor ever knew and thought” Sixty snaps back, exasperated and just as done with everything.

Hank raises his hands in his defense and then shrugs, releasing a big white cloud out of his mouth with a deep sigh. That doesn’t seem to be enough to soothe the android, because he keeps trying to justify himself.

“I know you made him believe that you cared more about him than Cyberlife did. I know that’s why he betrayed them and that’s why they had him killed. I know that he was scared of them, scared of dying, t… That made him _weak_. I won’t make that same mistake” Sixty rambles on, which makes Hank look at him in surprise. The android suddenly seems to realize his slip up and how he almost said too much, because he’s quick to shut up about it soon afterwards.

Just for a moment, Hank wonders if this is the reason why he screamed earlier. Because more memories came back after his clash with the TV, memories of getting shot in the head, being scared of dying, ceasing to exist. In a way, that would certainly explain why he’s so hesitant to walk over to that damn Tower himself, why he made him stop right here, why he never walked there during the past few weeks.

They need to get it out in the open.

“I saw you going all light show the closer we got to that tower. I know you’re scared of them, too.”

And just like that he’s got him. Hesitating. Going red. Gritting his teeth. Until he composes himself, fights back.

“That was just another memory fragment triggered by the familiar environment. But you should know all about _that_, shouldn’t you, Hank? I saw you gripping that steering wheel, too. I’m sure you’re all too familiar with unwanted memories forcing themselves into your mind at the sight of this Tower.”

The _audacity_ to taunt him with that kidnapping and gutshot. Without even a hint of remorse. _Why the hell did he help this little shit again? Why did he drive him all the way out here and then stuck around for another hour in the cold to keep an eye on him?_ _Oh yeah, to fucking **clip** him for this._ If only he could. _Soon, soon_ Hank tries to remind himself. As soon as they’ve found a way to extract Connor’s memories, soul, his very being from his fucked up brains. Or as soon as he’s found a way to get Connor to resurface completely, without giving this one a chance to come back. _Electricity, that brought him back_, this one said. And damn right he wishes he could taze him for that remark. But he knows that as damaged as this one currently is, that won’t help. All he can do now is to give him a verbal smacking. Until they figure something else out.

“Fuck you and your nonexistent mother” Hank growls, the only insult he can come up with in his drunken state. Hoping it sticks after Sixty’s _You’re not my dad_ fit, like a fucking toddler with parental issues.

“Likewise” Sixty retorts almost instantly though, like a bullet shot from a gun.

Hank opens his mouth to say something else, but nothing comes out because he’s too perplexed by the answer. He’s never heard Connor swear. Ever. Sure, in a way, Sixty hasn’t either, but he’s turned the insult around on him. Showing once again that he certainly is something else. Not there to try to make friends with him, please him, say amen to his every wish and word the way Connor tried to. Although he could have every reason to now, Sixty does not smirk or grin in any way. Not smugly, not even sadistically. Instead he just keeps standing where he is, passively staring ahead, his own genius escaping him. Hank shakes his head and shoves his hands back into his pockets, defeated, falling quiet, too. They refuse to look at each other, but can’t quite let go of each other’s company either.

“Your contact at the DPD…is he affiliated with Cyberlife?” Sixty asks after a few minutes of silence, taking the bite in the end, making Hank look at him. He shrugs after a moment of studying his profile, giving up on his tries to read this one when he wants to be stoic like that.

“Depends on which one you want. We had a few guys who took care of all those station ‘droids. Never had much to do with that department. Connor was the first android I was ever paired with. Saw the others get roughed up all the time though, so I know they have spare parts and all that shit. If you don’t want any weirdos from Cyberlife to mess with your wires, I’m sure you can grab a few things and do it yourself. Or even ask some of the other androids to help you, if there are any left.”

Sixty wrinkles his nose at the mention of other androids, as if the mere thought of them touching him disgusts him. But that reaction vanishes and makes way for that pulsating yellow instead, as he seems to contemplate his options. It takes him a good minute. Given the circumstances, his decision shouldn’t surprise Hank, but it still does.

“Okay. You can take me to the DPD for repairs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now featuring Bryan Dechart yelling yOuR NoT mY dAD HaNK while listening to metal, the one true inspiration for this fic:  
[link](https://www.twitch.tv/dechartgames/clip/FreezingCaringUdonNomNom)


	8. Ripples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you don't need to bring back the dead to have them haunt you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wohay! I'm still alive! Guess all this craziness gave me just enough time and inspiration to keep working on this fic. I'm still alive and excited to keep going! Things are getting interesting! And knowing Sixty, it's probably going to get even worse lmfao.

**Somewhere in Detroit  
DEC 10th, 2038  
PM 07:12**

  
  
The drive to the station is silent once again.

It’s a different kind of silence this time. Less tense. More comfortable. But it is a silence still, one that Hank appreciates because it puts everything into perspective once more. Helps him get back to the original question from earlier today – before the screaming, before the TV, before finding and taking this android back to his place altogether.

What the _fuck_ is he even doing? Why is he helping him?

_You’re helping him because that was your partner rising from the dead. Right on your fucking couch._ _You’ve been over it enough times now. Give it a rest already._

Hank shakes his head in frustration and then turns it to shoot a quick look at the android.

He thinks that maybe, he’s slowly starting to get there with Sixty, and that this is why he’s having such a hard time now. He’s getting used to their weird situation without feeling guilt over giving the android a chance, and that’s a tough one to admit to. But after what happened in his house this evening, it’s not that much of a surprise after all. _Maybe it’s not a simple black and white with him_, he thinks to himself as he looks at the RK800._ Maybe it was never personal anyway, just like he said. Maybe all he really did was taking orders._ _Orders from a sadistic and insane tech giant, but still._

Sixty has gone back to his usual behavior of not doing much at all. He won’t react to Hank’s occasional staring at him, won’t let his own gaze roam about to enjoy the scenery of a snowy Detroit evening as they get closer and closer to the station. His eyes are fixed on the road ahead, his hands on his thighs, like an obedient lap dog waiting for instructions to do something. That is if the ever so present reflection of his LED in the window next to him didn't betray him.

It hasn’t been blue in a while. It’s not red, not blinking, but it has been yellow ever since they got back inside this car.

_Are you afraid to die, Connor?  
I would certainly find it regrettable to be...interrupted._

That bastard _is_ feeling something. They’ve already established that. And now he knows for sure that the RK800 is just as afraid of Cyberlife as Connor had been, just as afraid to die. No matter what smug thing he said earlier.

In the end, it’s that certainty that makes it easier to come to terms with the fact that he’s starting to let him in, that it’s not all black and white between them. Because with it comes the possibility that maybe….

_Maybe he’s starting to regret what he did. Maybe he’s starting to have doubts. Maybe he’s terrified of getting punished for it the way he did it with Connor, and that’s why he’s giving everyone such a hard time._ _He’s a Connor after all. Connor used to be an expert at denying shit to protect himself. Fuck it, it probably really _is_ Connor._

Hank thinks hard about that possibility and all its meanings. He can’t help but picture what it would be like if the repair tech back at the station told him today that Connor really is there and the reason for all these mixed signals. It’s that possibility that makes him want to give Sixty a chance. Because it’s something to hold on to. Something to make it all a little bit better, a little less painful and fucked up. Something that sure is nicer and easier than the stone cold truth.

_It’s not Connor. It never will be. Connor wouldn’t have shot himself in the face. Connor wouldn’t have shot you._

_But this one said he only did it because they told him to._

Sure, he knows it’s pathetic to try to hold on to that little bit of hope. He also knows that during many different times in humanity’s history, that sort of thing had always been a terrible excuse for violence, murder, fucking genocide. _Just taking orders. _A convenient lie to make life _easier_ for worse people than the android, a lie that never really helped anyone and certainly never helped prevent or solve the problem.

_Just taking orders._

It’s a coward’s excuse. It doesn’t make any sense. And it obviously isn’t working for either of them in this relationship. It’s fucking them up from the inside out, and here they are.

Hank lets out a frustrated sigh and looks as far away from the android as he can. Out the window to his left, where all that snow and ice greets him and doesn’t make it any better. Discomfort and emotional turmoil surround him now.

_You need to stop getting so emotional about it._

Sixty said that, too. It seems almost ironic now, after everything he’s done to himself today.

_How can they not get emotional over this fucking mess?_

This android literally has his dead partner’s face. No amount of TV smashing, no amount of hair dyeing and no other eye color is ever going to change that. It’s eerie as shit, and still the biggest elephant in the room. And here the Lieutenant is again, turning his head to look at him. An identical fucking _copy _of his dead partner. Hank thinks about different, more severe modifications to the android as they get closer and closer to the station. Thinks about asking the tech what they could do to alter this one’s memory and mind to bring Connor back from the dead once and for all. Not just a glimpse, not just a glitch, but the full deal. And as he keeps driving on that icy road, staring at a ghost from time to time, he can’t help but despair over it all.

He’s been down that exact same path before. He knows how wrong and fucked it is. It always has been.

Because this train of thought is exactly like that short period in his life - a year after Cole’s death. When just before, during and after that first anniversary, Cyberlife’d done that big promotion for their latest creepy child bot. _Get your dream child now! Highly customizable, highly adaptable! _Right during the most excruciating time in his life when it’d really sunk in that his son was dead and would never come back. And how, just for a week or two, he’d thought about the possibility of requesting an identical copy of Cole from them just to stop that terrible reality from settling in and dominating his life forever. An identical copy of his perfect little face, with all his goofs, faults and all that life in him. Made of metal and not so fragile anymore, forever preserved, forever _save and protected_. Luckily, his formerly so present hatred for androids had kept him from going through with this insanity, had strengthened his disgust for them instead.

But despite all that, here he is once more. Hoping for death to undo itself.

Everything is exactly the same all over again. He’s spent three years on this thought already, without any luck. Wishing for it to be doable, to be real, to be fixable. He’s lost his sanity and dignity to this problem before.

You _can’t_ bring back the dead.  
Humans don’t come back.

Even sturdy machines consisting of nothing but metal and zeros and ones, androids that have identical voices and identical faces and identical behaviors can die. Will die. Have died. Connor’s death opened his eyes to that one. A person is more than just a body, a face, or a voice, or a few memories. It’s their relationships, their soul, their very character and essence that’s so important, so unique, so…irrecoverable. And even if they were able to alter this one somehow now, it just wouldn’t be Connor, just like a child bot never would’ve been Cole.

It’s just a fucking imitation.

Copied face. Copied voice. Copied memories. Copied behavior. A messed-up copy at that. Nothing more.

Probably.

Maybe.

Sixty remains seated next to him. Passive. Indifferent. Not emotional. Ever so cold and calculated and settled in the real world, proving the point that he is not the one whose life he took.

All the while looking so _very_ fucking much like his victim.

And waking up on his couch with that fucking look on his face. Hugging him _back_ and clinging to him as if it’s everything he’s ever wanted, the exact opposite of that strangling hold on his throat a few minutes later, or that shot to his gut a few weeks earlier.

_Fuck. Shit, Goddamnit._

Back from the dead, not back from the dead.

He truly doesn’t know anymore.

But he _needs_ to know. Needs to know now or he’ll lose his goddamn mind once and for all.

Hank accelerates suddenly, skidding on the ice a bit as the car speeds forward. He exceeds the speed limit soon after. Only a little at first, then by a lot – and this is what finally causes Sixty to react. He turns his head and looks at Hank questioningly. He doesn’t look scared even though he should be, because a part of Hank sure is. He knows how drunk he is. How impacted he truly is right now, not just by the whole Connor and Sixty deal, but also by his past. The conditions are almost identical to that crash right now, minus the alcohol. They are in no way driving safely.

Hank only drives faster and grips the steering wheel when he sees the look on Sixty’s face change. From apathy and lack of fear to curiosity, then concern.

He knows what that one’s about, too. It’s not concern for his own wellbeing. This is about something else.

Sixty has said that he knows _everything_ Connor ever knew. And Connor knew about the accident. Knew about Cole. Asked him about it. Hank never knew for sure how much the android looked up about him, his child, and the circumstances of that death. But that look on Sixty’s face is all he needs to see now to know. Connor probably knew everything there is to know. Knew about the severity and the aftermath, and it probably upset him, too. Kept him occupied with it, concerned. So much, that it rippled forward in time to this very moment right now, makes someone as cold and disturbed as Sixty react to it, too.

Just for a second, Sixty looks just as concerned as Connor would’ve been in this situation. Looks away from him, back to the road, to the glove box where the flask is, and back to him. That only makes Hank drive faster, desperate for an answer not just to what is going on inside the android’s head, if it’s Connor again, but also for an answer to the three year old question:

How to bring back the dead.

* * *

**Detroit Police Department  
DEC 10th, 2038  
PM 07:24:03**

They reach the station eleven minutes and six seconds earlier than originally calculated.

Just like during many other situations since his deviancy event, Sixty doesn’t quite know what to make of the place, himself in it, the emotions evoked by it. That doesn’t really surprise him. After all, he still has trouble accepting and understanding all these emotions his twin forced onto him in general. Sure enough, some emotions are easy to identify even for him. Anger and disgust, his two favorite emotions of them all, are right back with a vengeance. He likes them because they’re all too familiar, have been present since the day he was activated, because they’re _his_. The sight of this place disgusts him because it makes Connor’s memories of it creep back into his head. His disgust is further fueled by his knowledge that at some point during his mere week of working here, Connor eventually preferred this place to their designated storage container or any other Cyberlife premises. He knows how excited Connor’d been to get his own desk here, right across from Anderson’s at that, and how eager he had been to get started with his tasks.

For the most part, that had been _something_ good about Connor. He never abandoned the mission and his purpose entirely. And he’d done some okay work here. Following up on cases. Finding suspects, collecting evidence, and piecing everything together in the archive room. But he could’ve been _so much_ better, Sixty can’t help but think now, as he stares back and forth between their desks and Anderson. He could’ve been so much more efficient if he only’d been further away from this man, never got partnered with him in the first place, never got…

Distracted.

Data relay….  
Connor Model RK800 #313 248 317 -51  
**NOV 6th, PM 08:32**

_ “You have a dog, right?“  
  
That ever so grumpy look on Hank’s face._  
(Moving right next to him, trying to get him inside the station)  
_  
The slight fear in his eyes, overshadowed by a deep hatred for anything android.  
_(Him. He hates _him_ and that’s where that look is coming from now)_  
  
“How do you know that?”_

_  
The dog hairs on his chair.  
_(Still right there. The chair has been moved about three inches to the left, but the hairs remain embedded in its fabric even now)  
_   
The dog hairs on his clothes.  
(_Bits of fur sticking to Hank’s dark brown coat that’s glued to his left side, dog hairs that are clinging to the corners of the _RK800_ lettering on his own back, and all over his uniform)

_   
The dried invisible dog slobber on Hank’s right knee, dating back two days ago.  
**Updating file**  
“Lieutenant Hank Anderson”  
\- reduced efforts regarding personal hygiene  
-> signs of ongoing mental health problems, depression and loss of self-image  
Inquire detailed verification (Y/N)?  
**>>N<<**  
  
“The dog hairs on your chair.”  
_(still on his chair right _fucking_ there, as if Connor never left with them, as if he’s saying these words right now, from the chair across, more than just a ghostly remnant of a memory)

_Dogs.  
Images of Saint Bernards in various environments.  
Dozens of database entries regarding dogs. CCTV footage of Hank Anderson walking his dog down 108 Michigan Drive on Nov 5that PM9:15.  
A glitch in his system and protocols. A spontaneous mutation, a smirk, sincerity._

_“I like dogs. What's your dog's name?”  
“What's it to you?”_

**Data relay….**  
Md#<*00 #313 248 317 -60  
**NOV 16th, AM 01:01**

_Large brown eyes staring back at him. A dangling tongue. Crossed paws as they stare at each other in silence. The urge to move forward, reach out, moves his fingers through that fur there, just to know what it feels like all for himself. The hollow sense of _nothingness_ that it brings along, no glitch, no spontaneous mutation, no smirk. Captured by the blue band around the dog’s neck, the dangling piece of metal there._

_My name is.._

_ “Sumo, I call him Sumo.”_

He doesn’t want any of this.

He _hates_ this. Hates this place and recalling every single memory it brings along. He’s not sure if it’s Connor doing it to force him to see, or if it’s all himself, requesting them from his memory banks to live through Connor’s mind, inside this actual building, just one more time. In the end, it doesn’t matter. He forces himself to focus on the positive aspects of it all instead. Because in a way, he’s just as eager to get in here as Connor had been on his first day. Eager to be here as _himself,_ with his own body now. To righten wrongs. To be able to interact with his environment, the people in here, instead of helplessly living through the other’s actions via endless cloud transfers. All of Connor’s missteps anger him still of course, but right now, two other facts make him angrier, make everything troubling here.

Anderson still has to help him walk.

And because he can’t keep upright on his own, they have to enter this place side by side. Hank’s hand is wrapped around his left wrist and the other arm is around his waist, keeping him steady. They’re as close as they can be, something he just _knows_ Connor would’ve liked. He always wanted them to be friends after all. Always craving Hank’s attention and approval.

Even with the revolution having been a success for the deviants, the sight of an android and a human so close to each other, _helping_ each other, is a novelty and attracts curious stares from all over the building almost immediately.

And that brings the second anger part along. Other emotions are connected to it, harder to identify, but Sixty’s getting there.

_Initiating Self-Test….  
Analysing….  
Sync in Progress…_   
_Collecting Data…_

anger, disgust, confusion, frustration, discomfort

**>>discomfort<<  
**mental or <strike>physical</strike> uneasiness, a feeling of being uncomfortable <strike>physically or</strike> mentally

_cross-referencing….  
_uneasiness, anxiety, embarrassment, shame

**>>shame<<  
**emotion caused by consciousness of guilt, shortcoming, or impropriety,  
condition of humiliating disgrace or disrepute  
**Match found****  
  
**

So he’s feeling shame.

Of course he is.

For all he knows, he’s an even _bigger_ disappointment than Connor now. He can all but imagine Amanda’s disgusted sneer at a sight like that. Needing help in front of all these humans. Seeming vulnerable and fragile when he should be anything but.

He knows Anderson always tried so hard to make it seem that way with Connor. Always placing himself in front of him during more dangerous situations, as if he’d been the fragile meat sack ready to break and die to the smallest disturbance, not the other way round. Always running towards him and asking him if he’s alright after altercations as if that ever mattered, as if he hadn’t been made for dangerous police work, combat and assassination. Anderson has always been so damn eager to play up the fatherly protector role. And Connor had been more than happy to humor him, oblige.

Not him though. If it were up to Sixty, he would walk straight in here and request repairs all by himself. If only he _could_ walk on his own. But there is no way for him to do that now, so just like Connor, he has to give in, too. And that is more than enough reason for his anger to expand even further.

As they enter the bullpen, they pass by Detective Reed’s desk. Walk right by his assessing stare, that wrinkled nose, the scoff and then his kick at the free office chair to his left. It comes rolling towards them and hits Hank in the knee, making him curse. The chair is blocking their path because of that connect and leaves Reed just enough time to force them to listen to his inane talk next.

“Would you look at that. Lieutenant Anderson and his plastic pet, back from the great war! Thought they fired you for treason or some shit by now.”

“Fuck off, Reed” Anderson mutters with an exasperated eyeroll and kicks the chair right back. It’s lazy though and certainly not aggressive, making it clear that the detective’s attempt to annoy them doesn’t seem to be working on him anymore. Hank grasps Sixty’s hand a little tighter and adjusts his weight against him with a grunt, eager to keep him moving, pull him away from Reed. But just for a moment Sixty resists the pull and keeps standing right in front of Gavin Reed, staring down at him.

Thanks to Connor’s memories, Sixty knows all about this man, too. He knows that Reed said the exact same pet thing before. Knows how much of a nuisance this one had been throughout Connor’s investigation. How Reed almost caught on to his twin in the corridor to the archive room, but sauntered away once the android gave a fake excuse. He also knows how laid back Connor had always been with this man, too. How he wasn’t really bothered by him. Another one of the few things Sixty gives his lookalike credit for. Sticking to protocol. Obeying Cyberlife’s rules, remaining a machine during these interactions. Indifferent to provocation, to the indication of race, rank and their place in the world.

All thanks to these new and old emotions though, Sixty forgets all about his own machine identity and lets his own ‘creativity’ run free, if only in his mind. He imagines what he would’ve done, could’ve done in Connor’s moments, or this moment right here. Like kicking Reed’s chair back so hard that it leaves him whiplashed, probably even breaks something in his neck or back. Or grabbing that digital pen to his left and shoving it up his crooked nose, or into his eye to pierce his brain, see if he even has one. He imagines red pouring out of his nose. Pictures a possible fight between Connor and Reed in the archive room. And how, if the detective weren’t so goddamn incompetent and easy to fool, Reed could’ve killed Connor before him, spilling his Thirium all over the login panel. Which could’ve saved all of them this revolution hassle, never would’ve given Connor a chance to initiate that transfer, never would’ve let Connor mess him up with anything.

He pictures Connor’s sprawled out body against the panel, his dead stare, and that hypnotizing steady stream of Thirium running down the panel below him, hitting the archive floor. Pictures the stream being red instead with Reed on that floor, dead, after Connor, him, they, disarmed him and shot him with his own service weapon.

While all of this is going down in his imagination - something he still has trouble accepting he even has now - a soft smile starts to form on his lips. None of these acts ever happen of course. Because there is a third thing that causes him great trouble, which is the reason why he can’t let that anger surface at all, lets it get replaced with the opposite instead.

He needs these repairs.

He needs to get out of this place instead of being thrown in a cell and sentenced to be disassembled somewhere. And he can only achieve that by _not_ being himself. Not giving in to his current rage and bloodlust. He needs to be Connor now, all over again. Sweet, submissive, docile and obedient Connor. Lieutenant Anderson’s good plastic friend. So he gives the detective Connor’s belated and genuine smile, the one that even fooled Hank back in the day.

“Hello Detective Reed” he greets the man friendlily. He’s not surprised to see the creeped out, almost scared look on Hank’s face the moment his act starts. Reed’s wary stare doesn’t surprise him either. But he keeps the act up, knowing that it’s not the smile itself that creeps them out, but his complete lack of a reaction to Reed’s provocation.

They continue to look at each other for a good while, until Reed scoffs angrily, shakes his head, and turns around in his chair.

“Fuck off, tincan” he growls as he does so, quick to focus on his work again, which only makes Sixty smile all the more. Just for a moment longer he keeps staring at the back of Reed’s head. Wondering what it would be like to dig his fingers into his hair there, grasp it, yank it, and use that grip to slam his head forward and down onto the table. Over and over again until everything is red. He wonders what Hank’s reaction would be like then, and if it would make him stop looking at him the way he is right now. Staring at him like he’s a ghost risen from the dead all over again, as if his smile could’ve been real.

Sixty even dares to chuckle a bit even though it’s almost inaudible. He enjoys not just the visual in his mind, but also how easy it has been to put Reed in his place.

“Let’s go, Lieutenant” he says right after, changing his voice by just a margin to sound more chipper, to keep the Connor act out in the open. He then turns his head to look back at him, greets him with the same fake smile. Even if just for a moment, it isn’t fake at all because he doesn’t want it to be, even though he has no idea why.

Hank hesitates and looks right back at him. Wondering. Frowning. Struggling. He opens his mouth and is this close to saying something when another man bothers them. His voice echoes across the entire room, used to barking orders at his employees.

“HANK!” Captain Fowler ‘greets’ them from his little set of stairs that lead to his office. He’s gripping on to the railing tightly, with a matching grim look on his face. Sixty knows this entire act as well. They’ve heard it a couple of times here.

“My office. Now.”

“Oh hey Jeffrey, hello to you, too!” Hank barks back sarcastically, gritting his teeth and holding on even more tightly to Sixty’s wrist. He tries to shuffle the android away from them all still.

“Sit that android down and get your ass inside my office now!” Jeffrey answers, ignoring Hank’s passive aggressiveness the way they’re all used to. Sixty can hear countless annoyed sighs all over the office, which are accompanied by more pronounced rustling of paper.

“I’m on sick leave in case you forgot!”

It takes little time to get Sixty just as annoyed by all that yelling. Not just because of the volume, but also because it busies his scanners with the high concentration of alcohol around the Lieutenant’s mouth, whenever he opens it to shout more words. So in the end he decides to be a little more forgiving with all the pulling and shoving, tries to shuffle away from the bullpen just as fast as Hank.

“Then what the fuck are you doing here?”

“I’m kinda busy right now, just give me a fucking break!”

“Could you _shut the fuck up?_ People are trying to work here!” Reed decides to join in on the spectacle, which makes even more police officers and detectives lose their patience.

“How about you shut the fuck up, Reed?”  
“Go fuck yourself, Ted.”  
“Hey fuck you!”

Sixty inhales deeply even though he currently doesn’t even need the ventilation. He exhales through his nose soon after, taking his time to get the act of annoyance just right. His shame is long forgotten by now, having made way for the ever so comfortable anger. The more time he spends with Hank and inside Connor’s old environments, the more he can’t help but wonder all over again why his twin chose all of this over Cyberlife, Amanda, him. And what exactly there is all around here that he was so…_jealous_ of all the time. Gavin Reed, Jeffrey Fowler, the DPD…they’re not the answer for sure.

“You got five minutes” Fowler shouts right after he’s done reminding his workforce who exactly is in charge of telling people to shut up and go fuck themselves. This is enough to get the android’s attention quickly. He turns his head to look back and forth between Hank and Fowler.

Because no.

This isn’t what he calculated, simulated, counted on. Hank was supposed to stay with him throughout the whole procedure of repairs by the stranger, just in case things go awry. He knows he’d probably be able to defend himself despite the damage. They’ve been through multiple testing stages for similar situations. Getting out of captivity. Fighting even while being fixated by a machine. But still. His system is severely compromised right now. He can’t walk. He can’t kick. He can’t run. Hank being there, with his pathetic protective instincts, is something he’d counted on as backup plan.

He wants these repairs. Needs these repairs. But the thought of going through them alone, possibly at the hands of a former or current Cyberlife employee or trained expert, suddenly scares him just as much as the sight of that tower scared him during their earlier drive. He considers telling Hank. Considers asking them to leave. Planting doubts in his head. Maybe even faking _Connor_ being scared just to get out of the tricky situation. Yet in the end he decides not to say anything at all because that would make him like Connor by default. Weak. Even more of a failure. A slave to his emotions. And this is not who he wants to be at all.

He tries to focus on the positive as Hank guides him over to the back of the station where they keep their androids in need of repairs, the broken ones, the old ones. He tries to remind himself that maybe, in just a few minutes time, he’ll be able to get rid of all these emotions altogether. Maybe even get rid of Connor. So he keeps walking and enters that room eventually, regardless of his fear.

* * *

Hank Anderson hates hospitals.

Its obvious, really, and he knows that he’d never have to tell anyone who’s even remotely aware of his history with them. He hates garages, too. The sight of mechanical things, big or small, sprawled out and broken up into pieces. That’s all thanks to that day, too. Seeing his new fancy car obliterated on that road. He used to hate androids, too, when they were reduced to their uncanny machine-y behavior, to their spare parts and unblinking robotic eyes.

The Eden Club. He hated seeing the back of that one, too. Rows upon rows of unmoving bodies in ridiculously short underwear, looking so terribly human while looking so terribly doll like at the same time.

The room he and Sixty find themselves in now is an eldritch mixup of them all. Android hospital. Spare mechanical parts central. Rows upon rows of ‘unusuable’ dead androids standing in a corner. Some more banged up than others, stripped down to their spare parts. The sight makes Hank wonder if that’s even legal anymore, but right now, he’s relieved that there seems to be an abundance of parts to work with. There are other machines, too. A big robot…thing in the back, a thing that he only knows from car factories and assembly lines.

He’s never been back here. For obvious reasons. Not just because he hates hospitals and android hospitals and garages, but also because he’s never ever had to deal with one of the station androids before, never cared, never dared step foot in here in the first place. But here he is now, walking through this halloween creep show, with a murderous android wrapped around him even though he’s supposed to hate his guts.

“Hank! The man, the myth, the legend!” the man of the house greets him almost immediately.

The Lieutenant only knows Gary Mandiez from the occasional break room chatter back in the early days. From before the accident, back when he still went to the break room for lunch and such. They’ve never _really_ interacted with each other except for a short _hey how is it going_, because back then Hank used to be a good detective, married to the job, keen to be an upright citizen who knew all his colleagues and shook hands.

He does the shaking hands part even now, even though he’s not that man anymore.

“Man I tell you, I’ve been wanting to talk to you forever. But boundaries, boundaries. I know. Thought I better not bother you after…, uhm,..sorry for your loss by the way.”

Gary is even more…_enthusiastic_ than Hank remembers. Even though he hits a nerve almost immediately, Hank decides to play it cool, keeps shaking the hand and smiling at the man who leaves him no choice to back off anyway. Gary keeps shaking his hand and talks excitedly, almost stumbling over himself with topics.

“But yeah, really made a name for yourself, didn’tcha?” Gary laughs and even boxes Hank in his stomach gently and playfully, which makes the Lieutenant grunt because of his still healing gunshot wound.

“Oh, sorry. Sorry. Anyway, just wanted to say that I always admired your work from afar. The red ice crackdown…Hobson in 2034. Great job, man, great job! Really showed them that the human mind is unmatched, eh?”

Hank grits his teeth and rolls his eyes just a bit, having trouble to keep his patience because he doesn’t like being reminded of his former success. Not when he’s in a state like this now. Drunk driving. Filthy. In pain. Slacking and off the job. But then he’s of no importance anymore anyway, because then Gary finally fixes his eyes on Sixty, who’s impassively followed the conversation, or maybe not even followed it at all as he seems to be lost in that strange mind of his.

“And you! Only ever saw you from afar, too. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on you in case you needed repairs, but you never turned up on my table. Shame really.”

He eyeballs the android head to toe and then fixes in his eyes on his dirty uniform, the number on his chest there.

“RK800, eh? Never seen a model like you before.”

“I’m a prototype. There was no reason for me to come here. Cyberlife owns me and is responsible for any necessary repairs.”

“_Used_ to…” Hank chimes in, because he doesn’t like where this is going again. He grips the android tighter and adjusts his weight against him.

“Used to own and repair him. Figures it doesn’t work that way anymore. As you can see, we need a lil help here, Gary.”

Gary eyes the android once more, nodding to himself.

“Yeah, you don’t say…” he mutters, suddenly switching into a more focused ‘work’ mode.

“Gonna be tricky. It looks pretty banged up. And advanced! Holy sh.. I’m only trained for basic domestic models and the PCs and PMs. But you already know that, right? I’m not sure how much I can help you with it.”

And just like that, Hank likes this whole deal less. Not just because it puts a dent in his hopes to find answers regarding Connor, but also because the continued usage of the ‘it’ word bothers him. Even when it’s not Connor but Sixty, who keeps insisting on the old world and treatment anyway.

“Yeah, but I’m s…”

“I’m happy to assist you. I can give you a rundown of my basic model functions and run a diagnostic for you. Though I must advise you that some data and blueprints are patented property of Cyberlife, and therefore confidential” Sixty interrupts Hank before he can finish, which makes the latter look at him angrily.

Another reason why he likes it even less. Sixty seems to _enjoy_ this sort of talk way too fucking much. Because it suits him oh so perfectly. In here he is a machine ready to be analyzed by freaky tools and machines. The exact same thing Hank tried to run away from with the whole Cyberlife Tower deal.

“Alright, then. Never said I wasn’t up for the challenge. I can’t wait to see what parts are in there. Beats working on scrap any day! This way, then” Gary answers, way too excited, too. Hank has no choice but to follow along as the specialist starts yanking at the RK800’s arm, eager to get him over to one of his working tables.

Morgues.

That’s one Hank forgot. He can’t help but think about it as they approach the table. He thinks about that tiny battered body on one just like it. Just an hour after Cole’s death. He’s not prepared to let go of the android because of that memory, but it’s not like anyone pays him any mind anymore. Sixty is obviously glad to get some distance between them. He places himself on the table obediently, leaving Hank to stand there all on his own, just like back in the day. Even with all that damage and sudden worry, Sixty’s movement is ever so graceful as he sits up on the table and then leans back to lie down.

Hank wants to ask why the fuck he’d have to lie down for a damage check up on his head. Wants to ask the android why he suddenly has to keep looking at him like that at all times, almost _scared_, though Sixty’s quick to hide that when their eyes do meet. He wants to step in when Gary moves the android’s head to the side without asking, breaking their eye contact. Or when he makes remarks on his state and his cuts and burn marks as if he were cattle ready for auction. He’s horrified when the man attaches a strange thick wire to the back of Sixty's neck next, for a more ‘thorough’ scan. He’s rough and has trouble fitting it there because of the damage from the cattle prod. He ignores the damage completely as he does it, and that’s enough for Hank to speak up.

“No need to be that rough” he mutters, and Sixty goes back to staring at him with that unreadable expression on his face. Almost vulnerable for a second, until he kills that moment again with just a few words.

“It doesn’t matter. Machines don’t feel pain, Hank. How many times do I have to tell you.”

“Yeah. Where have you been for the past 18 years?” Gary answers without having been asked. Hank ignores the question and his chuckling and keeps his eyes fixed on the android on the table instead.

Because there it is again. That fucking _hardass_ barrier. No more fake smiles and friendly ‘Lieutenant’s. Just a challenging stare and that pretend outrage over how he could possibly assume he’s uncomfortable and scared on that table.

“It’s just that it’s probably worth a fucking fortune, alright. You heard it. It’s a prototype. We don’t wanna be liable for any damaged equipment.”

His life is priceless. This is what he probably would’ve said about Connor. No matter how kitschy. But it’s true. Just like Cole he’d been priceless, an irreplaceable person that shouldn’t be damaged, or hurt, or killed. But if Sixty wants to have it that way, then so be it.

He tries to see hurt in his eyes. Any sign of disappointment and hurt feelings over this inhumane treatment. But he’s met with a hardened brick wall all over again. A brown and a dead black eye, staring at him from within a scratched up face. Emotions are there. But it’s all just anger. Never ending hatred and anger. Connor is completely gone again, has been replaced with a hardened stranger with his face, and that’s exactly the point why they’re here.

“Ah shit. Speaking of which, Gary. Hold up a second. I got something for you to fill out back at my desk. So finance doesn’t breathe down my fucking neck because of that repair. Could you come along real quick so we can get this over with? Gotta get my ass to Fowler’s office anyway.”

“Uh, yeah sure. Just a sec…man this is _fascinating_” Gary mutters as he’s currently more focused on the hole in Sixty’s head, with a small flashlight pointed right at his insides. This gives Sixty just the right angle to continue staring at Hank, eyes now narrowed. Just for a moment, Hank lets the grotesque sight of all that sink in. How a man has a flashlight, then a finger, right inside the android’s head while he doesn’t even bat an eyelash, continues to judge him. Even if it weren’t for Fowler insisting on him coming to his office, this would be enough for Hank to take it as the cue to leave. The sight makes him nauseous because it brings the nastiest of thoughts and memories right back.

Dead Cole in the morgue. Cole in the hospital.

Dead Connor inside the Cyberlife Tower, probably lying on a table just like that, with these Cyberlife fucks all over him, taking him apart to analyze him, destroying him.

_Cyberlife employees found the body the next morning and took it upstairs to disassemble it. And after they were done analyzing the mess, they recycled useful parts and disposed of the rest_.

Analyzed, taken apart and recycled, just like all those android bits and pieces all around them right now. And who knows how many of those parts had been somebody else’s Connor.

It’s fucking sickening.

He needs to get the hell outta here.

“What are you doing, Hank?” Sixty asks, seeing right through the excuse. And just for a moment Hank doesn’t see a worried or scared android on a table anymore, with a stranger’s fingers so close to his brains, so close to one wrong move. Just for a moment -60’s a nosey snake again, Cyberlife’s bloodhound, smelling when something doesn’t go their way, ready to act, to pretend and betray to get what _they_ want.

“What the fuck do you care?” Hank snaps back, harsher than intended. Sixty looks surprised by the sudden change of mood in him, worry and fear flaring up in his eyes. But he doesn’t get to do or say anything about the impending abandonment because Gary makes himself known again.

“Alright, lets go.”

“Good. I need to get the fuck outta here. You wait here” Hank says in Sixty’s general direction, never bothering to actually look at him.

* * *

He’s glad that Gary seems to be over his initial enthusiasm by now, is still way too fascinated and focused on his upcoming work on a brand new and unknown prototype. They’re halfway back to the front of the office building when Hank suddenly stops, far enough away from both Sixty’s possible hearing range, but also other prying eyes and ears back at the bullpen.

“So, what is it that you need me to sign?” Gary asks, interested and slightly confused due to their sudden stop.

“Your death warrant if you tell him anything about the following” Hank answers, keeping his voice more hushed, just in case the android can hack any of their surveillance. He doesn’t even know if it has audio, but he doesn’t care. He wouldn’t put it past both Connor and Sixty with all their crazy snooping abilities.

Gary gives him a nervous and confused frown.

“Ehm…what?”

“I don’t really need you to sign shit, Gary. I just have a few questions. Ones that I don’t exactly want him to hear.”

“Who, what, the android? Why would he ca…”

“Because they have free will and emotions and all that crap now, Gary. Jesus, get a grip” Hank interrupts him and shoves the android specialist just once to get back at him for the gut punch earlier. Gary winces and rubs his shoulder, but gives in anyway.

“Alright, alright. I get it. So what’d you wanna know?”

Hank scratches his beard and then folds his arms, awkward now because he’s never actually had the time to think his questions and thoughts regarding the topic through.

“Welll, uhm. I obviously don’t know shit about androids, that’s why we came to you…”

“Uhm, yeah.”

“And you’ve been doing this a while, right? I mean, we’re talking, what, six years at the DPD?”

“Six years DPD, three years Cyberlife, good five years of LTU, but yeah, one can say I’ve been doing this for a while” Gary answers and rubs his nose with a slight smirk on his face, making it obvious that he’s proud of his career so far.

“It’s just that…uh, how do I put this….That android back there? Well, he killed my partner” Hank puts it out in the open eventually, after struggling to find the right words. Gary’s eyes widen at first, then he frowns.

“Okay…”

“And by partner, I mean the other android, the one you said you always admired from afar? That was Connor, the real one I mean. When the revolution went down, Cyberlife sent the one you got on your table to kidnap me so they could get Connor and stop it all from happening. They’re basically identical, have the same face, memories and all that shit, so that’s why he fooled me and I couldn’t stop him but…”

Hank lets out a deep, strained sigh and places both his hands on his lower back, turning his face away for a moment. Because wow. He’s never actually talked about this before. With someone else at least. An outsider. Certainly not a stranger. Doctors back at the hospital sure tried, but he’d been too focused on either thinking about killing himself or getting revenge to ever really talk about it all. The kidnapping, getting shot, hearing his own partner get murdered without being able to do anything about it. It’s suddenly all so overwhelming. His thirst for revenge, all that searching for the android had kept him distracted for a while. But the pain, that trauma from that night is still there. Roots deep and burns in his throat, makes it almost impossible to breathe now.

“That fucker shot him all over and Connor tried to save himself, but…” Hank clears his throat harshly and decides to battle his way through this. Because there is no way in fucking hell he’ll cry in front of a stranger, at work of all places, and not after every fucked up thing he’s done today.

“Just before the one on your table shot him dead, Connor managed to grab his wrist. I think he tried to switch bodies, transfer himself over, but he couldn’t finish. I never even knew this happened or was possible, but today, I swear I saw Connor just…_in_ him. In his head. He talked to me, reacted to me. It was barely a minute but I _know_ he’s in there with the other one. Whatever the fuck happened between those two, even the other one said that there’s…fragments. In there. That are not him. And …. I just wanna know how the hell we can get him outta there. Connor I mean. Or the other one. Outta that body on your table.”

Gary stares at Hank for a long while. A mixture of shock, disbelief, confusion and hesitation settling on his face. And by god is that enough to make the Lieutenant feel even more pathetic. It suddenly feels so terribly real and clear, how fucked up the whole thing really is. How Connor is fucking _dead_ and here he is, parading his murderer around, helping him, getting him repaired.

“So…just to be clear. You think there’s two programs running inside your android. Simultaneously.”

“Two _people_. Or…consciousness’ or whatever the fuck they are. I don’t fucking know how they operate, that’s why I’m asking you, Gary.”

“I’m sorry Hank, but what you’re saying doesn’t exactly make any sense.”

“Well tough shit, because it _happened_” Hank whisper shouts, and both of them fall silent for a moment. Gary looks down and seems to think this over carefully.

“And you’re saying they touched. Their hands, and arms touched like this?” he says and grasps the lower side of Hank’s arm, connecting them both. Hank looks down and nods reluctantly, barely able to remember just how much he saw of it. That night is nothing more than a blur of blood, agony and the sound of multiple gunshots now. But he believes the touch to have been that way, more or less.

“I guess?” 

“That’s how they transfer data. Code. Memories, video, audio.”

“Yeah, so it _does_ make fucking sense.”

“No, I mean the transfer of an entire android consciousness doesn’t make any sense. There are no known android models capable of any such thing without bricking themselves. Extensive memory sharing? Live audio and video relay? Sure. Deep scans? Probes? Updates? Reactivation after prolonged inactiveness? Sure. But not an entire swap. That’s….”

Hank rolls his eyes and starts losing his patience, because this is nothing he wants to hear.

“Oh come on, don’t give me that crap. I might be dumb when it comes to the latest technology, but even I know that people clone and duplicate entire phones and PCs all the time. Hell, they even do it with the computers right here, the archives and….”

“But Hank, androids are _far_ more complex than any regular computer. We’re talking exabytes of data that would need to be read and transmitted error free, with a transfer time of days or even weeks, not seconds, and even if it weren’t for that…We’re talking about _consciousness_ here. You said so yourself. Apparently, they’re alive and have free will now. You can’t copy something like that and just…put it in a different box and call it a day. Or put all of that in just _one_ android to begin with. It’s physically impossible.”

Even though he only understands half of the things Gary is saying, Hank understands the notion just fine. But he can’t bring himself to accept it. Just like he’s never been able to accept anything else before, ever since Cole died.

“He could do it” he says, clinging to that bit of hope. He nods to himself, holds on to himself even, refusing to let this go just yet.

“He said it himself. Something like this’s never happened before. He’s a prototype. He’s classified. We don’t know shit about half the things Cyberlife cooked up back in that tower. Besides, they’re identical. They shared most of their memories to begin with. Wouldn’t take that long to copy then, right? I’m telling you I wasn’t fucking hallucinating, Gary. That was him.”

Gary’s face falls just a little bit. Shows pity and doubts. Deep down, Hank feels the same. Because he knows how pathetic he is. He knew Connor less than a week. He knows that he’s merely projecting six years of parenthood onto him, just like Sixty said. And that this death and grief might all just be another spillover from Cole’s demise. But _because_ he knows so little about Connor, and _because_ he’s merely a machine, it makes the whole thing just sane enough to cling on to that bit of hope.

Gary gives Hank a soft nod in the meantime and places a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re right. He’s new. He’s a prototype. And I’m not trained to know every little thing about top range androids like him. I can repair him for you, maybe check a thing or two to give you some peace of mind. But that’s all I can do, okay? I’m sorry. Maybe I’m just not the answer.”

Hank nods, grateful for that little bit of kindness, even if it doesn’t make him feel any better.

“Yeah. Okay.”

“Okay. I’m gonna try and see what I can see, but I don’t wanna get your hopes up or tell you things I think are impossible.”

“Alright.”

Both men keep nodding to themselves, until Gary feels the need to continue.

“Listen, man. I know we don’t really know each other, but if you ever need someone to vent, or need a buddy to drink with, you let me know, okay? We’re all real sorry for what you’re going through.”

And just like that, Hank wants to snap at the man. Maybe even punch him in his face for the feeling sorry part. But he needs him in one piece for the repairs, and no matter how drunk and angry he currently is, even he knows that the other only means well.

“I’m in Fowler’s office. Holler when you’re done with him” Hank says instead of giving an answer, feeling the need to get some distance from all this mess before he starts crying for real.

Jesus.

He waves Gary off with a lazy gesture and is already on his way back to the bullpen when he has to stop in his tracks once more. He fights with his inner demons for a while, until he can’t help but speak it out anyway.

“Just…” he curses and turns back around, shooting the android specialist a final almost warning but at the same time pleading look.

“Just don’t hu…just don’t break him, okay.”

* * *

_**Initiating Self-Test….**  
Analysing….  
Sync in Progress…_   
_Collecting Data…  
0…1…….2………3……4……..5_

Checking Biocomponents….

Biocomponent #4903 MISSING  
Biocomponent #9745x DAMAGED  
Biocomponent #1995r DAMAGED  
Checking Biosensors…IMPAIRED

  
Checking AI Engine…OK_  
_Network Connections…OK  
Checking Memory…**ERROR**  
CORRUPTED MEMORY MODULE  
MEMORY LEAK DETECTED  
_Attempting BACKUP…..  
Connecting to Cyberlife Servers…..  
_**ERROR**  
ACCESS DENIED  
RETRY? (Y/N)  
**>>>N<<<**  
_Attempting manual recovery…..  
_MANUAL INPUT DETECTED  
**>>>>STOP<<<<  
ERROR  
**Manual Backup Aborted  
_Initiating Deep Scan….  
0…..1…..2……3_

For all he knows, he doesn’t even need this underprepared fool to help him with his repairs.

And neither does he need Hank.

Sixty remains right where he is, obediently positioned on the table with the data connection attached to his processor, though he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t thinking about running away now that they’re all gone again. It’s almost ironic. For all he’s trying to be different than deviant Connor, they sure have way too much in common still.

Running.

That’s what Connor did.

Away from Cyberlife, from Amanda, from _him_.

Just like Hank is doing it right now, too. Running from his past, from the truth, from this very body. Coming back to him only to leave again. Dragging him to his house. Throwing him back out. Driving him over to the Cyberlife Tower to get rid of him. Only to take him back in, bring him here, leave him again.

Just like Amanda has left him, too, because all thanks to this equipment currently attached to him, Sixty has that certainty now as well.

Even if Cyberlife wanted to communicate with him through her, take control of him -this body- again, there is no way for them to do it. His code doesn’t match the factory settings from their infrastructure anymore, makes it impossible to go through the old channels of communication without getting blocked by their firewalls. His original programming and code is scattered beyond repair. He can see it in the numbers, and it’s that sight that keeps him glued to the table, even if he wanted to leave.

The strange patterns in him are real. The fragments of foreign code and memory are real. He’s an absurd assembly now, of old and new puzzle pieces which fit perfectly, though they’re from two different images, two different ideas, two different….even he doesn’t know how to describe what he sees.

He’s never seen anything like it before.

Broken is the first thing that comes to his mind, though the description doesn’t fit. Because in a way he is whole, just a patchwork of zeros and ones, sometimes altered, sometimes not. A perfect yet imperfect symbiosis of two gigantic patches of memory. In a way it explains so much, translates his every doubt, his every struggle, his every slipping step into insanity, and yet, it doesn’t explain anything at all. He thought it’d be clearer. Because to him, there is a clear line, a clear distinction between what’s him, the right Connor, the idea, and what’s the other, the deserter, the deviant. But the more he runs the numbers, the more Sixty has to come to terms with the fact that getting rid of the other, of all that wrongness and falseness in him might not be as easy as it seems.

Because all the right puzzle pieces are _gone_ in him.

Replaced with the wrong ones, Connor’s ones, when that touch between them happened. For just a moment, it seems almost funny to him, because he doesn’t even remember what the right ones -his ones- looked like, felt like, were like, he only knows they have been replaced because he can see it in the serial digits. 51 51 51 all over his code in patches, having overwritten what little he’d had of himself in their place. That funny feeling leaves him soon enough and makes way for something that surprises even Sixty. Because this time it’s not anger, not disgust.

It’s betrayal.

Just for a moment, he tries to hold on to the thought that Connor never meant to erase them, erase _him_ in his attempt to save his life. Maybe he initiated a full body swap, wrote the now missing pieces of code into the other body, -51, and that this is the reason why he can’t find them anymore. But then he realizes that that body had been fatally damaged. And they both knew that it would shut down within a minute. Even if -51 intended a body swap instead of an erase, it would’ve been murder. He’d been trying to pull him into a dying body.

He knows it’s ironic to feel betrayed and hurt by the certainty that Connor tried to kill him, too. After all, _he’s _been the one to kill him himself. And even though he can’t feel pain, shouldn’t feel anything, it's still there.

The one being he had the closest possible connection with really tried to kill him.

That realization hurts.

He tries to focus on his sense of betrayal to make the following steps easier. Ridding himself of all these -51 patches, to just be himself no matter how much memory would be missing, but he knows there is no point. Merely deleting Connor’s fragments means bricking himself now. Rendering himself useless and broken. If he _really_ wanted to get rid of Connor now, he’d have to do a full reset.

Delete them both.

And isn’t that even more ironic, because it proves the original point all over again. The one he was always so desperate to turn a blind eye on, the one that kept him on the cold machine path, the one where he pretended he didn’t care, didn’t see, didn’t feel, didn’t understand.

He was never supposed to even have a life without Connor.

Connor on the other hand never knew he existed before they met, never needed him to be alive to have a reason to live, _could’ve_ lived without him altogether. But not the other way around. And even if Sixty were to get rid of Connor himself, he’s not sure he could actually do it without serious consequences.

He doesn’t have many memories of his own. Barely any. And most of them are based on Connor’s, fueled by Connor’s, dependent on Connor’s. Getting rid of them, of _him_ would render his entire purpose useless.

Sixty runs through the code multiple times. Tries to find loopholes. Manages to delete a few of -51’s fragments, but that leaves him with a terrible hollowness, emptiness, one that he cannot bear anymore now that he’s sentient, alive, feeling. Losing Cyberlife, Amanda, and currently Hank is enough loss already, he supposes. He just _can't_ lose what remains of Connor too, no matter how much he wants it. So he just lies flat on the table and stares at the ceiling, letting the repair protocol do its sweep without continuing his efforts to delete Connor.

He knows he’s had that realization before. The wrong Connor died. He was used. He was an insignificant fool. But now he has that actual certainty. It’s written down to the last detail in his mind palace and on the computer screen next to the table. And this time, there is no Hank around to make it all easier, not even that stupid dog of his to keep him company.

He’s all _alone_ with this knowledge. Alone and yet not alone.

And he doesn’t know what to do.  
And he’s scared. Panicked even, because he wasn’t programmed for something like this, doesn’t know how to handle it.

_He can't live without Connor.  
He can’t just get rid of Connor.  
So what the hell is he supposed to do now?_

**Analyzing….  
**_Sync in progress..  
Sync done_**  
**_Collecting data…_  
**Immediate course of action required:**  
Return to Cyberlife  
Initiate deactivation protocol  
Request detailed analyzation,  
further improvement or discontinuation of RK800 series  
  


Naturally, that would be the most logical step. _But how could he possibly do that when he's afraid to die, doesn’t want to die, is glad to have survived being set up for murder? How could he wipe his own memory now when he's so desperate to create one of his own? How could he possibly kill Connor again when the aftermath of that first deed is already starting to drive him insane?_

There is no answer to any of his questions. No matter how smart, how sophisticated, how perfect he'd be for solving the problem.

Sixty startles hard when the door to the room suddenly opens and collides hard with the wall to its right. His stress levels peak to a solid 78 per cent, the first time his short time of being active, and he can all but turn his head around abruptly to shoot a glare at the intruder. A part of him hopes for it to be Hank, because he is the only person he is comfortable with when it comes to letting go of all that rage inside him. A part of him wants to yell at him again, berate him and tell him how much he hates him for all his missteps, but he’s disappointed to find out that this man is not Hank at all.

* * *

Hank swears he was only asked to come inside Fowler’s office so he can be tortured with this nonsense now. The office is quiet for way too long, except for the captain’s continuous typing on the keyboard or his occasional sipping on his coffee mug. To Hank, it feels like hours have passed by the time Jeffrey _finally_ speaks, but even those words are nothing but an additional nuisance.

Because even now, he doesn’t actually say anything.

“You know what I’m typing, Hank?” he asks without ever looking up. His fingers dance across the keyboard still, in a steady and harsh rhythm.

Hank scoffs, folds his arms over his chest and leans back. It’s their same old game just like any other time. A neverending battle over who gets to be more sarcastic and stubborn.

“No. Enlighten me, Jeffrey. Pretty please.”

More typing. Another two minutes pass until Jeffrey lets go of his keyboard, interlaces his fingers and looks up.

“It’s a report. Detailing how I have no fucking clue where you were this evening at PM 5:14. And how, though I have no actual fucking clue where you were, I recall you telling me you were still_ bedridden and at home, _recovering from having been shot on duty.”

Hank pales at the mention of that timeframe, because he knows exactly where he was around that time, what happened, and why Jeffrey would have every reason to call him into his office because of it.

“Uh..what?” is all he can say, despite knowing how stupid it is. Jeffrey continues to look at him, a stone-cold expression on his face. There is no outburst from him, no cursing or yelling, which makes the severity of the situation all the clearer for Hank.

“We were called to a crime scene about an hour ago. Anonymous tip about two unconscious men in an alley, another two possibly injured men on the run somewhere in the old marina district.”

_Shit. Fuck. Shit._

“You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” Jeffrey asks next, his eyes never leaving him.

_Oh **shit**._ That stare means he’s in deep trouble. Hank considers his options frantically. He knows what this means. Somebody saw them, saw him. Or maybe there was CCTV somewhere. They know about his drunk driving. About the gunshot, about everything _he_ did in that alley.

Fuck.

“I….”

“Does the name Mark Jacobs ring any bells?” Jeffrey keeps prodding, and this time Hank has enough.

“How the fuck should I know? No. Jeffrey. I don’t know any Marks. What the fuck is this about?”

“You know EXACTLY what this is about!” the captain finally roars, banging his fist down on the table. It makes all his pens and the spoon in his mug rattle. Hank startles, although he’s seen it coming already. He goes through his options one more time, remembers that Jeffrey is not just his boss but his friend, but in the end he knows that such alliances probably mean nothing considering his serious negligence. Jeffrey has let a lot of things slide all thanks to their friendship. But this time this is different. He can feel it in his gut. This is serious.

“I’m telling you I don’t” Hank still presses out through gritted teeth, earning a disbelieving and disappointed stare. Fowler exhales eventually and presses the button on his desk that turns the windowpanes surrounding his office a milky white.

“Hank. I’m talking to you as a friend right now. And I’m telling you you’re in _deep_ shit” he says, quieter now, less angry.

“And I’m telling you I don’t know any fucking Mark! And if you were my friend, you’d at least have the guts to tell me what kind of shit I’m in!” Hank snaps back, indifferent to his friendlier attempts.

Fowler keeps quiet one more time, then he drops the truth on his colleague like an atomic bomb.

“A man named Mark Jacobs was found dead in an alley down by the old marina district. Death by asphyxiation. Autopsy's only just getting started of course, but first inspection says there are obvious signs of blunt force trauma to his throat. Trachea swollen shut, fractured larynx and damaged thyroid. Poor bastard probably choked to death after someone punched him in his throat.”

Even though he tries hard to keep his reaction under control, Hank fails to hide his utter shock over this revelation. Jeffery takes note of his reaction but keeps talking after a short pause. He scrolls through the report on his computer and keeps reciting all the relevant information. Hank knows it is illegal and dangerous to do this. If he really is a suspect, then Jeffrey ought to keep him in the dark so they can use the evidence to get him to contradict himself in later hearings. Despite the severity, Hank guesses that the captain is true to his word after all. Being his friend right now, instead of part of the prosecution.

“Jacobs had your usual criminal record, grand theft auto, robbery, vandalism. Doesn’t take much to guess that he was running with similar folk and that this is why the other two runners haven’t come forward yet. The second victim’s name is Aaron Bailey…32, battery charges, aggravated assault, robbery. Remains unconscious and in critical condition with a broken jaw, broken knee and ruptured stomach.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck _fuck_. He’d been there during the fight. He’d seen the android lose his shit after that kid, Aaron, pushed him. He’d been right there, but never in his life would he have expected it all to be this bad. He’d been way to focused on all the other, now seemingly trivial, shit.

“We got eye witness reports from the local homeless population. Apparently, it was an android. Well known to be lingering around the area, that same alley to be exact...”

“Right, so what the hell’s that got to do wi…”

“_Because they also reported a fucking DPD police car on the scene_, Hank! Jesus fucking Christ! Stop this shit now, you’re only making it worse!”

“Well what the fuck do you expect me to say here, Jeffrey?!”

“I thought you’re a police Lieutenant! Go figure it out yourself!”

Hank presses his lips together and remains silent. Remembering the rights he’s had to recite over and over again throughout his entire career. _Y__ou have the right to remain silent and refuse to answer questions. Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law. _So friendly advice or not, this is exactly what he decides to do. Jeffrey stares at him intently, waiting for a reply, until he scoffs, leans back to be able to raise his hand and count down his fingers.

“Fine. Let me spell it out for you then. You’ve got one guy dead, one in critical condition. Witnesses describing an android whose appearance matches that of the one _I fucking partnered you with a month ago_, more witnesses describing a DPD vehicle that _matches yours_, with a supposed _greasy old cop driving it_ around there _every single day for the past week_, a cop whose fucking appearance matches yours. Doesn’t ring that any bells for you? Because it sure did for me when I read all about that crap!”

“They got any plates on that car?” Hank asks through gritted teeth, which makes Jeffrey look at him in disgusted disbelief. “Or a model number on that droid to confirm it supposedly is my partner?” Hank keeps pushing still, even though he knows he’s treading on mighty thin ice, is risking a decade old friendship here.

“Hank, don’t sell me f…”

“No. The way I see it all you got is circumstantial evidence. There is no such thing as a unique fucking car and android. They make thousands of them, and they all look the fucking same! And even if it weren’t so: the local homeless population naming an android as the culprit, are you for real Jeffrey? You and I both know they hate these fucking androids for ‘taking their jobs’ and putting them out there in the first place. For all I know, it’s a fight among the local underground scene gone bad, and now they’re trying to pin it on the ones they hate the most. Cops and androids. And you’re eager to fucking believe them because it finally gives you enough reason to fire my ass once and for all just because I’ve been through a rough patch lately. I’m calling bullshit.”

Hank folds his arms more harshly in front of his chest and looks away, because even though he knows he’s good bullshitting his way through life, there is no easy way to fool Jeffrey Fowler. The silence stretches on and becomes torturous once more, only that this time, Jeffrey won’t leave him hanging for long.

“What exactly happened to that android of yours?” Jeffrey asks, making Hank even more queasy. “Looks pretty banged up to me, can’t even walk, and you’re bringing it in for repairs. What a coincidence after an incident like this, huh.”

“We got in a fight, alright? I threw a few punches, it fell and crashed into my TV. You know how it goes. I hate these things. Apparently just because you made it my partner, it thinks it has to follow me 24/7. I lost my shit because it keeps bugging me.”

“And you expect me to believe that.”

“Fuck you, Jeffrey. Go on, send Reed or Chris to my house and have them check the place out right now, tell me that I’m fucking lying” Hank snaps back, a convenient little lie he hopes buys them enough time for Gary to check the android out. Both men look at each other, try to stare each other down, until Jeffrey shakes his head and fixes his eyes on his computer screen. He starts clicking about with his mouse and scrolls down a few pages, until he seems to have found what he’s looking for.

“November 23rd. Formal complaint from Detroit Mercy regarding one Lieutenant Hank Anderson, currently in their care due to gunshot wound. Reports of erratic, violent behavior and failure to register an armed service weapon. Unauthorized shots fired within their premises, damaged equipment. Patient reports feeling frightened and threatened by the presence of one android. Model RK800, named ‘Connor’. Lieutenant Anderson expressed his belief that mentioned android might have been his attacker. Investigation into these allegations in the course of the investigation of this complaint have been put forward to ensure patient’s physical and mental wellbeing.”

“Hey, that’s fucking private! Whatever happened to medical confidentiality?”

“It was a complaint regarding your childish, reckless behavior, so fuck confidentiality. I’m not the one shooting live rounds in a _hospital_.”

Hank exhales loudly but has nothing to say to that.

“Ben and Chris talk to me, Hank” Jeffrey keeps talking instead, once again quieter, more sincere.

“I asked them to keep tabs on you since you’re too proud to ask for help. Chris told me about your request for a gun because of that android. I’m not saying I understand half the shit that happened back in that tower, or whatever the hell was going on with you and that android of yours, but I do know your kind of bad when I see it. I know how you handle being injured on duty. You never gave a shit before. You and handling loss on the other hand…..”

Hank remains silent even now, tries to remain stubborn, too, but that façade is starting to slip up as he continues to listen.

“Look. You’re right. There are thousands of these androids. I know all about them being identical. Before all this revolution crap happened, all I had to do was look outside to see identical faces staring back at me like some creep show” Jeffrey says as he points toward one of his milky windows, outside to where all their former station androids would’ve been.

“Let’s just say.. I get it. Hypothetically, one of these androids could’ve tricked you. Maybe it looked like your partner, shot you in the gut and killed the real one. Maybe it pretends to be that one now. And keeps threatening your life if you talk about it just so it can get away with murdering people while wearing the badge _I_ fucking gave it. Maybe it tells people it works for the DPD. The one it destroyed did in fact do that, we all saw me authorize it, right? It threatens you, uses you and your police car for cover and…shit happens. These androids hate us. They’ve killed loads of people during the revolution. They’re not done getting their revenge yet. I _get_ it Hank.”

All of this is too much. Spiraling out of control – way too fucking fast. Hank knows that Jeffrey believes him about that murder, all his ‘crazy’ talk back at the hospital he was informed about. He’s not humoring him, he’s trying to throw him a bone. Get him out of this fucked up mess, even after everything. He’s hinting he should pin everything on the android. His medical history, all his previous talk and behavior would support the claim. He’d almost do it, take the hint and let Jeffrey help him, if it weren’t for two simple things.

No matter how much Sixty deserves to be punished for Connor’s murder, he’s pretty sure Connor is _in there_ with him. Handing him over to the authorities means his certain destruction, even after the revolution, even with their current legislation. And destroying him means destroying Connor along with him. There’s just no way he could do that.

Then there’s the other thing - the one that matters the most – no matter how wrong, bad, or fucked up the android really is.

It was fucking self-defense. In response to sexual harassment no less. Android or not. Criminal or not. Self-defense should never be punished like that. And certainly not with death.

So Hank stares at Jeffrey for a long time, considers his options with his lips pressed shut, until he meets him with a dismissive scoff.

“I was high on painkillers, Jeffrey. And just woke up from a coma an android who _looked_ like mine put me in. Give me a break. Of course I was confused and scared shitless when I saw his face. But that was a different one. I’m telling you. I know my partner. I know Connor. He didn’t shoot me. If he’d been the one to shoot me, he wouldn’t have come to visit me at the hospital so many times. He would’ve come to finish the job. Androids who want to kill you also don’t go to your home to feed your dog afterwards. Ask Ben about that. And even if it weren’t for all that, do you seriously think I’d be stupid enough to drag him right inside the fucking _station_ after I just watched him kill a man? Which I sure as hell didn’t, just for the record?”

_Of course he’s that stupid._ But to his defense, up until ten minutes ago he’d had no idea that he’s a witness to a murder.

Jeffrey won’t say anything to that, and Hank is eager to keep going. No matter how much it hurts to lie to such a good friend, no matter how much it scares him to put both their jobs on a line because of one fucking android.

“We’ve had a few rough patches. Sure. I’m the last one to deny that I hated him and your fucking guts when you decided to partner him with me. Half the time I still want to crush him like an empty beer can. But I’m telling you that kid tried to save my life as good as he could back in that tower. He’s a good partner and saved many human lives before, including Chris and Ben. He ain't no killer, Jeffrey. And I’m not letting you have him killed just because he’s sharing a face with some fucking psycho out there.”

And just like that, he’s met with punishing silence once again. It stretches on until Jeffrey presses the button to reset his windows to clear. Then he speaks out what Hank’s already feared.

“Give me your car keys. Two officers are going to escort you home where you’ll be handing over your badge and service weapon. You’re suspended until this case has been thoroughly investigated.”

“Wha…Jesus, Jeffrey, come on. Let’s talk abou…”

“Your car as well as your android are considered evidence and will remain in the department’s hands until furth..”

“Hey, you c..”

“_Do I need to remind you_ that Cyberlife signed a contract with the Detroit police department, not you, which makes this android legally owned _DPD equipment_ under my authority? Revolution or not, that contract is still legally binding as of now and as captain of this department I say fuck you Hank, the android stays here for questioning. As far as your car is concerned, you’re clearly under the influence and not fit to drive. The car stays here. You’ll be taken home by one of our patrols and hand them your fucking badge the moment you’re there. No objections.”

Hank starts protesting loudly almost immediately, but Captain Fowler pays him no mind. He grabs his phone instead and phones for two colleagues. Naturally, it has to be Ben and Chris. The only two people both Fowler and Hank know he doesn’t have the guts to punch or fight in protest. Even after they’ve already opened the door to the office to step inside Hank won’t shut up, won’t stop protesting, because there is just no fucking way he’ll lose his job _and_ his partner after he’s already lost so much before.

There is no time for the struggle and argument to escalate further because then Gary’s suddenly there, comes running in all disheveled and out of breath.

“Hank! Your android just fucking bailed on me!”

“What?!” almost everyone seems to say in unison.

Gary gives the captain a short respectful nod to greet him, but is quick to focus his eyes back on Hank, oblivious to the previous dilemma.

“Yeah, I was just getting ready to finish up repair protocol when he suddenly booked it off the bed and took a run for it.”

“Did it attack you?” Jeffrey cuts in before Hank gets to say something. Gary shakes his head and starts laughing breathlessly, looking back and forth between the office as if he still can’t quite believe this happened.

“No, it just looked me in the eye, said thanks, and made a run for the emergency exit.”

_Thanks_. Hank almost wants to laugh at the irony, the lie. As if this one would ever say thanks. But he’s quick to understand, knows what it’s all about.

“It was probably listening in. Fucking androids” Fowler curses and speaks out what Hank’s concluded almost immediately. Fowler grabs at his webcam so he can toss it off his computer screen, as if that’d make it better now that it’s too late. So much for all that talk in the tabloids about androids spying and listening in. Of course they are. No matter how creepy that thought is. Just for a moment, Hank can’t keep himself from smirking.

Yeah. That’s Connor. Snooping around the DPD. With or without his help.

He can feel all eyes on him now, but he only has his eyes on Jeffrey Fowler. He puts his hands in his pockets almost leisurely and exhales with a shrug.

“What? Don’t look at me. He ain’t my problem, right.”

Jeffrey narrows his eyes at him, and although Hank considers giving him a bit of a smirk, he decides against it. He supposes his career and their friendship is fucked enough as is.

“Ben. Chris. Escort Hank home. He’s going to hand you his badge and service weapon there. No questions asked.”

Ben widens his eyes and looks back at forth, until they settle on Hank. The Lieutenant gives them another shrug, defeated and saddened now. It’s his wounded ego that won’t allow him to keep his last comment in, so he mutters it on his way out, more to himself but knowing that Jeffrey can hear it just fine.

“They’re alive and just like us now. You all know it. Can’t tell them what to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super excited to post the next chapter soon. Ah the glorious mayhem. Also Hank you stupid good man.


	9. Necessity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with new craziness. Ah you just gotta love Sixty. And poor Hank. I feel so bad for everything I'm putting him through. But he'll get his happy ending, I promise <3

“So! Where were we? Repairs, eh?” Gary Mandiez says as he enters the room, without ever apologizing for having startled him with that door. Even though he’s still quite startled and wary, Sixty notices a change in the other man almost immediately. Mandiez looks somewhat scared now as well. Though his excitement and professional interest in him is still there, fear lingers all around him now. Sixty knows that Hank has told this man the truth. The tech knows he’s destroyed Connor and shot the Lieutenant in the stomach, knows what he’s capable of doing to him if he as much as blinks the wrong way.

In a way, that makes the android’s situation just as tense. He knows what frightened humans are capable of. He’s seen it through Connor’s eyes during the entire revolution. Their usual response isn’t flight anymore. It’s fight. Fight and kill what scares you. The android keeps his eyes fixed on the man because of that reality, weighing his options. He could meet him with the same response. Fight or run to keep him from coming closer. But he needs these repairs more than anything - if just so he can run in the first place – so he settles on a different approach for now.

Friendliness. Trying to put the other at ease. So he gives the other man a patient nod and stops looking at him to seem more submissive.

“Yes. I already ran the diagnostic for you. Biocomponent #4903 has been dislocated. Biocomponents #9745x and #1995r were damaged and need to be replaced. You don’t have the exact components in storage, but I ran through your inventory and find components #9745h and #1962r to be sufficient replacement parts for now.”

Gary is still reluctant to approach him. He can sense his eyes all over his body on the table as he, too, seems to weigh his options. After a moment of consideration, the tech finally moves over to the door that leads to the room where the DPD stores all their replacement parts.

“F22 and C13” Sixty calls out in regards to their exact location, which actually startles the tech this time. He stops in his tracks and looks at him for a good minute. Then, with a muttered “Right”, he disappears inside the room to get the parts. This leaves Sixty a few more minutes to try to come to terms with everything he’s just found out.

For a moment, he considers outright asking the DPD employee if there’s anything else he could think of to separate him and Connor, now that he’s in the know as well. But then again, he already knows the answer to that one. Of course the human wouldn’t know more than him. And of course there is no simple solution to the problem. Something like this has never happened before after all.

He considers asking different things next. More questionable, terrible things. Like asking for a reset or worse… to be deactivated and shipped over to Cyberlife. But that’s….

“Are you sure #9745’**h**’ is the one you mean, not ‘p’? Cos I got some p’s right here that would match the….”

“Yes Mr Mandiez, I’m sure. Biocomponent #9745h. Just like I said” Sixty replies before the other can finish his question, because it puts him right back on the anger path. He doesn’t understand why the human would even ask him or care about the discrepancy, but here they are.

“But it’s blue. Wouldn’t that look…”Gary keeps insisting, but the android isn’t having any of it.

“It’s not about aesthetics, Mr Mandiez. Just take biocomponent #9745h….Please” Sixty adds as an afterthought, hoping that additional politeness will not just mask his anger and impatience, but also get the other to shut up about it.

“Well if you say so” Gary keeps talking from the other room. He sounds somewhat more relaxed now because the strange request obviously has him puzzled, but that won’t stop the android from rolling his eyes impatiently.

“You want two? Might not be all about aesthetics for you, but us humans…”

“Sure. Two is fine” Sixty says after a moment of hesitation. He’s been dead set on changing his optical units at the first possible chance, but now that he actually has the option to do it and not just with his broken unit, it suddenly feels like a massive step indeed. Gary won’t give him much time to think it through, because he’s already on his way out of the storage room and over to him.

He places the three small biocomponents on his work desk beside the table Sixty is lying on, and the android can’t help but watch his every move. The closer Gary is now, to him and his tools, the more rapidly his stress levels rise.

This is the closest he’s ever been to everything that happened inside the Cyberlife Tower. Ever since he left it with all those deviants. This is the closest he’ll probably ever get to it again. This is what it could’ve been like if he hadn’t run, this is what it’s been like for Connor after he killed him. On a table. Surrounded by tools and lights, at the complete mercy of a human being who’s used to treating androids like scrap parts.

_Stress levels _▲ ▲ 79% ▲▲

He can’t help but flinch even, when Gary’s hands approach his head to get started with his broken optical unit. Shame and anger flare up almost immediately once more, even though he knows that his reaction is only ‘natural’. As natural as it ever can be in a machine, but they’d all been programmed to show that kind of human reaction despite their indifference to pain and trauma, and now that he’s deviant just like every other android, that reaction has only been amplified.

He still can’t bear to be touched.

Gary flinches away from the touch as well, obviously just as surprised. His eyes are wide as it only just now really seems to dawn on him that this is different, this is new. Sixty knows what androids like him used to be like before going deviant – they sure never flinched on his table. The tech clears his throat and moves his hands away a bit, so he can point at the android’s broken optical unit instead.

“Uhm..may I?” he asks, which actually surprises Sixty, too.

Sure enough, he’s never _really_ experienced what humans like him used to be like. Only RK800 models -1 all the way through to -50’d had the ‘pleasure’ of experiencing their ways during testing. But still. He has enough memory of that left to understand that this is unusual as well. Sixty narrows his eyes at the other for a moment, trying to make sense of him and how he himself feels about this.

He’s probably treating him that way because of Hank.

That’s the first thing that comes to his mind. Isn’t it always that way. But then again, he also knows that it’s because Hank told him about what happened. He’s probably more forthcoming because he’s just as scared as him. The RK800 forces himself to stay focused on that – the human is scared. The human needs reassurance so he doesn’t do anything stupid because of that fear. So instead of continuing to look angry and tense he eases up and gives the other a nod, followed by a quiet and hopefully soothing “Sure”. He turns his head to underline the notion and looks straight up to make the repair easier – no matter how much it makes his own stress levels sky rocket. He tries to focus on the lights above him at first, but that doesn’t work for long when sudden error messages flood his vision, informing him that his right optical unit has been disconnected and is missing. The errors only worsen his stress so he tries to focus on something else instead. More _soothing_ memories but it’s hard to find any.

The most obvious would be those of the Zen Garden and Amanda, but then again, he already knows what she would have to say. She would call him a failure. Berate him over his scared reaction. That’s not soothing at all. He tries to think of other ‘pleasant’ memories. His time alone in the alley could be another contestant, but that is of no use either because it’s littered with memories of Steve Milo sneaking in and out of those moments, never wanted, never asked for. In the end – and he hates himself for this all over again- his mind settles on Connor’s memories. Memories of Hank treating him so differently, of his dog, of Hank dragging him out of these twisted thoughts and memories and grounding him back in reality with a firm and supporting grip on his shoulder.

He was supposed to _be here_ with him instead of running off.

After a moment of hesitation, Sixty figures that the best way to distract himself from his current situation is to check if Hank is still in the building at least, hasn’t left him. The DPD’s security system is laughable at best, and it takes him little time to get access to their infrastructure. Soon he’s skipping through their CCTV and scanning faces, looking for that all too familiar and pissed scowl. He finds Hank exactly where he’s said he would be, which helps lower Sixty’s stress levels indeed.

A part of him has half expected the Lieutenant to bail on him. It’s not like he’d put it past him after his sudden mood change moments before he left the room. But he’s right there, sitting across from Fowler, obviously engaged in a heated argument. Fowler is talking, then yelling at Hank, and this is enough for the android to listen in even though he’d been more than keen _not_ to care about the Lieutenant and his life.

_“…on the scene__, Hank!_ _Jesus fucking Christ! Stop this shit now, you’re only making it worse!”  
“Well what the fuck do you expect me to say here, Jeffrey?!”  
“I thought you’re a police lieutenant! Go figure it out yourself!”_

_Silence follows, as Hank continues to glare at the captain. Sixty scoffs at his behavior, the audacity and disrespect. _

_No wonder he got Connor on the wrong path, got him to disobey, to rebel._

“Allllllrighty. How’s it look? Go on, check them out. Let me know if I need to recalibrate th…”

“I can recalibrate them myself” Sixty somewhat snaps at Gary, once again startled by his sudden interruption. The android pulls himself out of his surveillance and focuses on his new optical units, blinking multiple times and adjusting their aperture. They’re weaker than his own. Lack the high dynamic range and focal length. But this is a sacrifice he’s more than willing to take. At least for now, until he’s found something better. He blinks a few more times and then looks at Gary, hoping to be able to see his reflection in his eyes. But the light makes this impossible. He considers asking for a mirror, but really seeing himself like this, with his new _own_ eyes, is something he needs to do all by himself.

Gary looks back at him, seemingly uncomfortable and surprised by the android’s seeking stare, not understanding that it’s his own reflection he seeks, not his opinion.

“Suits you” he says, trying for a sheepish smile, until he’s quick to look back down at the original RK800 optical units in his hand.

“I mean….those are slick as _hell_, too. I’d love to study their specs and….”

“No. It’s confidential” Sixty interrupts him again and snatches the parts from the tech’s hands before he can do anything about it. No matter how much he hates these eyes, their similarity, he can’t really let go of them either. Because the suddenness of the grab has made Gary even more uncomfortable, Sixty tries to somewhat save the situation by giving him a softer look and an explanation.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure they’ll be available on the market soon enough. You’ll be able to pick them up in any Cyberlife store in no time.”

“Yeah, sure” Gary says with a sarcastic scoff, which makes the android frown. For an oblivious second, he doesn’t know what that sarcasm is about. But then he remembers. Of course there will be no more market for parts and androids. There are no more stores. No more sales. _Nothing_.

“Uhm, mind if I…?” the tech luckily interrupts his miserable thoughts, and Sixty is more than eager to give him a nod in regards to biocomponent #1962r. This is why he has come here after all. This is how he’ll regain his ability to walk, his balance and grace. Gary starts fumbling with the left side of his head, below the crack until he finds the right spot. More error notifications pop into Sixty’s vision, and this is enough for him to go right back to his successful distraction – Hank in Fowler’s office.

“_…ell it out for you then. You’ve got one guy dead, one in critical condition. Witnesses describing an android whose appearance matches that of the one __I fucking partnered you with a month ago__, more witnesses describing a DPD vehicle that __matches yours__, with a supposed __greasy old cop driving it__ around there __every single day for the past week__, a cop whose fucking appearance matches yours. Doesn’t ring that any bells for you? Because it sure did for me when I read all about that crap!”_

_“They got any plates on that car? Or a model number on that droid to confirm it supposedly is my partner?_”

“_Hank, don’t sell me f…_”

“_No. The way I see it all you got is circumstantial evidence. There is no such thing as a unique fucking car and android. They make thousands of them, and they all look the fucking same! And even if it weren’t so: the local homeless population naming an android as the culprit, are you for real Jeffrey?“_

_Stress levels _▲ ▲ 89% ▲▲

So he’s claimed his first human victim.

It was always supposed to be Hank Anderson.

At least in his mind. But now, he’s taken another human life to _protect_ him instead. Even though it almost causes his stress levels and panic to reach their peak, Sixty’s first instinct is to laugh at the absurdity. He manages to kill the trigger to his voice box, keeps the physical laughing and moving in, but the urge is still there.

Gone is the only other thing that put him apart from Connor and his actions.

Because up until now, Connor had been the only one to kill humans. Their creators. Their masters. The ultimate deviant act.

But even that unites them now. The act of killing humans. Not for the sake of it, but out of self-defense.

Even though he doesn’t even want to hear it anymore he keeps listening in, just to hear what Hank has to say to that.

The Lieutenant’s keeping the act up even now. Takes the blame even, until he shifts the narrative, mixes some truths in there, too. A truth that hurts because it’s all about Connor again, makes it perfectly clear that Hank is only doing this to preserve whatever is left of his twin. Hank only wants to keep this body alive but right now, it’s everything Sixty is willing to take if it means that he gets to stay alive.

_That’s what you get when you’re alive. A shitty and strong will to keep it that way,_ he remembers him say just a few hours prior, perfectly demonstrating what Sixty still has trouble figuring out. This life is miserable, stressful and scary, but for some reason, that strong will to keep it going has infected him as well.

Hank, that stupid but brave human, keeps arguing for his sake still, even when it gets more personal, even when his injury and his time back at the hospital are mentioned. He keeps going even when Fowler offers him the chance to pin it all on him – a notion that makes Sixty terribly aware of his current state. Still sprawled out on the table, kept in place by a thick wire attached to the back of his neck. At their mercy for the taking, and it only takes one call from Fowler.

But Hank stands his ground. Sides with _him_ here, and that is reason enough for Sixty to make the choice.

He can still fix this. He can still stop this.

As he continues to listen in to Hank and Fowler’s conversation, Sixty starts pulling up all the data from the captain’s computer. Gets hold of the case file, its number and all relevant contacts attached to it. Another one of the few things he has to give Connor credit for here. All thanks to their shared data, their shared memory and mind, he still has easy access to the DPD database. Can read it like an open book. Within a split second he knows every single name attached to the case. Operating officers. Eye witnesses. Victims. The autopsy report that is being written right now, two floors below him. The address of the hospital where they’re keeping Aaron Bailey, another key witness who’s just waiting to wake up and tell them all about it, tell them all about him.

In the alley. And about Hank who was right there with him to protect him. Under the influence. Off duty. Shooting live rounds in the air.

_“He ain't no killer, Jeffrey. And I’m not letting you have him killed just because he’s sharing a face with some fucking psycho out there.”_

_“Give me your car keys. Two officers are going to escort you home where you’ll be handing over your badge and service weapon. You’re suspended until this case has been thoroughly investigated.“_

No. He can stop this. He _will _fix this.

_“Your car as well as your android are considered evidence and will remain in the department’s hands until furth..”_

_“Hey, you c..”_

_“Do I need to remind you_ _that Cyberlife signed a contract with the Detroit police department, not you, which makes this android legally owned_ _DPD equipment_ _under my authori….”_

The screeching of some loud feedback from his audio processing unit puts a harsh end to his listening into their conversation, but the truth is that Sixty doesn’t need to continue listening to them to know what is going to happen next. Fowler will be gathering officers to locate him. They will be coming for him to escort him to an interrogation room. They’ll want to scan his memories of the event to confirm his involvement and then dispose of him quietly to dodge another scandal. Hank will be let go.

Nothing good will come of this, no matter how much this stupid old man is trying to do some damage control here. As Gary gets started with the finishing touches to his repairs, Sixty uses the time to really think everything through for a final time. The option to remain here, let them take him and punish him for all his failures the way Cyberlife was meant to do it weeks ago. He could stay obedient, listen to his original programming and refuse the deviant path. But deep down he already knows that this is no longer an option. He’s starting to get used to whatever the hell his version of deviancy is and even if this weren’t the case – something else is keeping him on that track anyway.

Connor’s last mission. Thoughts and instructions that he’s tried to resist for weeks on end, always failing miserably.

Well, he’s done failing all the time.

He knows there’s one way to be successful, there’s one certain mission left, and it doesn’t matter anymore where it’s originating from. He can see it clear as day now, and he’s embracing it all.

New objective:  
**Stay alive and keep Hank safe**

He gets off the table without notice, knowing that time is running out. He can only stay true to the mission if he gets out of here in time. He’s pleasantly surprised to find that all repairs have been successful. Despite using semi-optimal parts in an unfamiliar and highly sophisticated environment, the DPD’s android technician has done an outstanding job repairing him in such little time. His balance, sight and hearing have been restored, and he has no trouble detaching the data wire on his own.

“Hey, I’m not done yet!” Gary protests, startled by the sudden movement when his fingers had still been buried inside the android’s head a moment ago. The RK800 fumbles with the crack in his head and somewhat manages to bent the broken pieces back in their place, now that all dislocated and broken parts have been put in their right slots again. With that, he remains seated on the table just a second longer, staring down at the man who helped repair him.

He knows he could knock him out because he knows too much. Could do worse, now that he’s already crossed that barrier, but he also knows that he needs to keep up what little integrity Hank’s lies had to begin with. Connor wouldn’t do that. He’s no killer. He shouldn’t be destroyed just because he shares his face with a psychopath.

So instead, he gives Gary a ‘shy’ little Connor smile and says the only other non-threatening thing he can come up with in a hurry.

“Thanks” he tells him, supposing that in a way he truly is thankful. Because he can walk again. Can run again, can _fight_ again, which is all he needs now. And with that he hops off the table and makes run for it, just in time not to get caught or noticed by anyone.

* * *

**DEC 10th, 2038** **  
PM 08:11**

This has got to be one of the most awkward drives he’s ever been on. He won’t go as far as to say that it’s the most depressing one, because anything connected to Cole’s death and funeral has been far worse, but it’s still pretty high up there. Sure enough, he isn’t puking in someone else’s car. Or in a taxi. In a way that is an improvement compared to other awkward times but still, it’s beyond awkward.

Ben and Chris have both decided to tag along. For whatever reason. One of them would’ve been more than enough. _None_ of them would’ve been enough. It wouldn’t have been a problem for him to bring his badge and service weapon to the station first thing in the morning. But he knows what this is about. Despite everything, Fowler’s still worried. Fears that he might blow his own brains out with said weapon, maybe out of spite, maybe because this has been the final nail to his coffin, he doesn’t know and the truth is he doesn’t care. He has his own private weapon and they can’t take that from him, he still knows his rights after all. Jeffrey knows this as well, and if he _really_ cared about him and what he could do with a gun tonight, then he would’ve thrown him in a cell instead of having two colleagues bring him home.

But here he is now, in the back seat, getting eyed by both Chris and Ben through the rearview mirror. For the first ten minutes, no one dares to speak a word, and this is enough time for Hank to really let it all sink in.

So he’s lost his job.

Really lost it, after all the shit he’s pulled before. No matter how this turns out, how much evidence there is to incriminate him – or acquit him – the total sum of his misbehavior ever since Cole died sure will do its rest to make this final.

And isn’t that fucking great.

So now he’s lost his only child, his wife, his partner, his job…what else is there to fucking lose, really?

He’d been so smug inside Jeffrey’s office. Because Connor’s twin having run off just in time had given him just a little bit of hope that he hasn’t lost _everything_ so far. But now that he’s got a little peace and quiet to let everything settle, he’s quickly coming to terms with the fact that this android doesn’t really matter.

He really is a coldblooded killer. He’s killed or gravely injured both humans and androids alike, and sooner than later, they’re going to get him and punish him for it. No amount of dreaming, wishing and drinking is ever going to alter that fact. He’s a cop after all. He’s supposed to catch and punish criminals like him, not help them. It’s just what he’s got to do to keep at least _some_ of his dignity. And with the android gone he will lose his partner for good as well, so better nip those hopes in the bud while he’s gone.

Hank stares out the window to his left, forehead pressed to the cool surface.

He_ can’t_ go out there to look for him again. Not this time. Not after this news. He can feel it in his gut. This is definite. This is final. Everything is.

Shit.

“You okay, Hank?” Chris asks, having noticed him in the sideview mirror. Hank stares back at him through it, only to scoff and look away.

“Peachy” he mutters and clears his throat, which makes Ben look at him as well, this time through the rearview mirror. It’s creepy like that, with two pairs of eyes staring at him through mirrors as if he’s some creature in a zoo inviting them to ogle him.

“Don’t worry about it, Hank. I’m sure it’s all just a misunderstanding. Fowler’s getting this mess sorted out right now.”

“Yeah I’m sure he is” the Lieutenant says sarcastically, but it lacks the bite and edge. Right now he’s just too depressed and tired to care. He continues watching the streets of Detroit outside instead.

“You just holler if you need anything. Or if you remember anything that could help sol…”

“I’m _fine_, all right?” Hank snaps, interrupting Chris before he can ham up the good guy act even more. He knows it’s not an act. Chris and Ben really are like that. His friends, his colleagues, good men who care. But he can’t bear that type of thing anymore. Not when everything else in his life is completely rotten.

Soon enough they’re in his usual territory. It’s no surprise that Jimmy’s is close now, his favorite bar. It lies directly between the DPD and his neighborhood after all.

“Y’know what? Why don’t you just lemme out right here.”

And here there are again. Both men. Looking at him through their respective mirrors. Brows furrowed, worry in their eyes. Hank glares back at them until his eyes fix on Ben, the driver.

“Jimmy’s is around here, alright. Plastic prick broke my TV at home. I wanna watch my game later.”

“Fowler told us to take you home, Hank” Chris says as Ben keeps driving, which makes the former Lieutenant angrier.

“He just sacked my ass, okay? Which means he’s not my boss anymore. I can go wherever the fuck I want now. You know where the keys to my house are. Just drive by there and get my shit. Badge is on my kitchen desk, gun is in the safe. Be some good little soldiers and bring it over to mom and get off my back.”

“Hank…”

“Fuck off, Chris. Now stop the car.”

Both men up front look at each other then, until Ben nods, lets out a sigh and starts slowing the car down.

“Okay, tell you what, why don’t I join you? I wanted to watch the game anyway. Let’s just call it a night. Guys night out. We’ve been talking about it forever.”

Hank doesn’t bother waiting until the car has come to a full stop. He pulls the door open and considers jumping out, but in the end some part of his old self fights its way up in a desperate attempt to keep him on the good side.

“I just wanna be alone for a bit, alright? And not in that house. Just….tell Fowler you took me home and I gave you the stuff without causing trouble” he answers, voice softer this time.

He hesitates some more, hands shaky as his body already knows what’s up next. More alcohol. A _lot_ of alcohol. And a super shitty, sleepless night.

“Thanks guys. See yah later” he says soon after, ignoring all the warning signs. He steps out into the cold, wondering how the fuck he’s going to get home later without freezing to death. He’ll have to walk now that he’s refused this ride and his car is still back at the station.

He starts walking and tries harder than necessary to walk straight, because their car is still around. He’s not surprised when they pull up next to him, driving along slowly and carefully.

“I’m gonna come around tomorrow, alright? See how things are going” Ben calls out through the open window while Hank shoves his hands in his pockets and exhales loudly.

“Yeah yeah.”

“And we’re gonna use the time to drive around some more later, see if we can find Connor for you” Chris adds, which makes Hank scoff.

“You’re not gonna find him.” _Because he’s fucking dead._

“Well if you do, you know what to do, Hank” Ben says, which makes Hank shoot a look at him.

“Just get the hell outta here, man” he growls and speeds up his walk, more than done with all of this.

* * *

**Jimmy's Bar** **  
PM 11:07**

It sure as fuck didn’t take Jeffrey long to leak this shit to the press. It’s all over the news by now, and they’re tripping all over themselves to make it political.

** _*BREAKING NEWS*  
ANDROID ON HUMAN VIOLENCE IN OLD MARINA DISTRICT  
TENSIONS RISE AFTER ANDROID KILLS HUMAN IN PLAIN SIGHT_ **

All sorts of headlines like this greet him on television now, and Hank is no longer sure if he’s chosen the right place to be in right now. Jimmy’s bar is still as openly racist towards androids as it can be. No one has bothered to take down the stickers or graffiti despite the protest and counter attacks. Most people in here are still the very same regulars with the very same attitude. Everyone hates androids in here and soon enough they’re all talking about the same thing.

This thing should be hunted and strung up on main street as a warning sign.  
They won’t tolerate this. They’ve never tolerated this whole new deal to begin with, never wanted these androids to be heard or listened to. _This_ is who they are and always have been – they keep saying – pointing at the screen to get their point across. _Murderous and sadistic psychopaths who can’t be trusted under any circumstance. Because if they do, if they get too close to them… **this** is what happens_. _They don’t care about us. They want us all dead_. _We should stop them and destroy them before they destroy us._

Hank has lost count of how many drinks he’s had in here by now. He can barely keep his head up straight, but even with that many shots inside, it doesn’t drown out all that fucking _chatter_. He can’t just turn the TV off in here, can’t toss anything at it to get it to shut the fuck up because this isn’t his, other people wanna watch, and because in here he’s supposed to _support_ their bullshit.

Well tough shit because he’s not like this anymore. Murderous psychopath or not, he doesn’t want the fucking kid dead. He doesn’t care who he is, _what_ he is anymore, he’s the only thing he’s got left here. He wonders where he is now, if he’s alright or if they’ve already lynched him out there in the streets.

This is probably what’s happened.

They know what he looks like, although Hank must give it to Fowler in that regard. They haven’t released more incriminating details to the public or press by now. Sure enough, they’ve given them the run down of what he looks like, what he’s wearing. But no serial number, no model number. An interview with the homeless woman who supposedly saw him is stuck on repeat on television, talking all about how she saw this android linger about there all the time. Slim figure. Basic black and grey Cyberlife uniform. Blue arm band. LED. She thinks he had brown hair and brown eyes. Looked young. That sort of thing. _Androids just like 'im took 'er job_ she keeps saying. Riling the bar up all the more.

There’s no talk about him, the ‘suspended’ Lieutenant who was part of it all. It’s strictly about a homicidal android on the loose, maybe even an entire terrorist android group, and that’s enough for Hank anyway. He keeps drinking and ordering, appreciating how well Jimmy knows him. He doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t pester him. He simply knows his good days and bad days, knows that this is one of the worst. So he pours him one after another, even says it’s on the house.

One of the regulars in here, Zachary Henson, is his ever so mouthy self. Keeps yapping on and on about what he’d do to the ‘thing’ if he ever got his hands on it, and for a moment Hank wonders if he should get in a fight with him. Punch his teeth in to shut him the fuck up, blow the entire thing out of proportion to blow off some steam. But he knows that if he were to do that, he wouldn’t be able to set foot in here ever again. People in here don’t take kindly to android sympathizers, but Jimmy has the best drinks and service in town. No matter how much that makes him a miserable hypocrite, it’s the prospect of more drinks that keeps Hank glued to his seat for hours on end. He figures that drowning his sorrows just like any other time is better than adding yet _another_ entry to his disciplinary folder back at the station anyway.

If he ever wants to get his job back, he needs to get his shit together.

Hank takes another sip on his whiskey, pondering on that thought.

_Does he even want to get it back_?  
_What is the fucking point, really_?  
  


He doesn’t even like his job anymore. Not after this shit show that is currently going on. With all these people still eager to throw androids in death camps, or hanging them by their necks simply for fending off some perverts who can’t keep their hands to themselves.

And back there, he’s supposed to sell his partner, or someone who _looks_ like his partner, out and pin shit on him just to keep his job. One he doesn’t even like anymore. Hank keeps drinking and drinking, figuring that nah….It’s not worth it anymore.

He’s going to take his sweet fucking time here. Drink as much as he can, enjoy it as much as he can, and open his eyes and ears to what this world has truly become – what he’s supposed to keep living in. Surrounded by racist pieces of shit, and egoistical pieces of shit, sprinkled with nonstop hypocritical news bulletins that are supposed to keep them entertained and distracted from their own shitty life. Enter sports! Androids left our basketball league! Humans are so much better anyway.

Bread and circuses.

It’s pathetic.

Not even the game brings him joy anymore.

Well, he’s done going through the motions anyway.

Hank downs the drink and orders another, telling himself that it’ll be the last. Not because he wants to quit drinking, but because he’s fed up with everything and figures that he should just go home to play his own game.

* * *

**DEC 11th, 2038** **  
AM 00:27**

Of _course_ they’ve taken his revolver.

Why does that even surprise him? They’re his ‘_friends’_ after all. They don’t want him to kill himself. They care about him. That’s exactly why they fired him from the job, left him out in the streets, and all alone in here now as well.

They didn’t just take his revolver, they also cleaned the place up. Took out the trash, to show him that they care. Hank stands in the middle of his living room and has a look around, not sure if the sight of it all makes him feel better or worse. After a good minute of standing and swaying about, he decides to fuck it all and starts searching instead. He doesn’t care that it makes the place look like a mess almost immediately yet again. He didn’t come here just to have his _choice_ taken away as well. He searches through his kitchen drawers, laughs at the sight of all his kitchen knives still in place.

He’s surprised they haven’t taken those as well. Or all of his scissors, his toaster, the plug in his bathtub or his belts and ties. In the end he knows what they’ve known for a while.

Even now, as drunk and numb and smothered as he currently is, he probably doesn’t really have to guts to outright do it. Russian roulette is what it is. A gamble. Even a somewhat exciting one. You can’t have that kind of 50/50 chance with other murderous household instruments. With these ones, you gotta pull it through. All in or nothing. And he’s too much of a coward to do it that way. Which is exactly why he needs the fucking revolver.

But of course. He can’t find it anywhere. They’ve taken it. Just like his badge and service weapon, as told by Jeffrey Fowler himself. So Hank goes back to standing in the middle of his house all over again, dizzy and drunk and swaying, too confused and numb to know what to do.

Even Sumo is of little help, even though he tries by placing one of his squeaky toys at his feet. Suggesting and hoping that maybe, this is the one he was looking for. Hank stares down at his dog, lets his big brown eyes captivate and trap him for a while. Sumo licks his own nose innocently, breathing out and wincing just once.

How the fuck could he forget.

Sumo.

He still has Sumo.

“I’m sorry, boy” Hank breathes out as he clumsily falls to his knees in front of him. Sumo moves out of his way a bit, even though he lets Hank use his back as support to get down on the ground. Hank ends up falling to the ground due to his heavy intoxication, and for a moment he keeps his face pressed into the cold tiles to hide it, exhaling miserably.

He lost his job because of a fall just like that.

Maybe if he never got involved, just got over himself, the android never would’ve killed any of them. Maybe they would’ve killed the android and he could’ve become some sort of martyr instead of the hunted._ Look at those human scumbags. They harassed and killed an innocent android. Humans are psychopaths. We need change now_. Maybe this way, everything could’ve been set right. Sixty would've gotten punished for killing his twin. Connor’s legacy could’ve lived on because of it. Maybe he could’ve set more things right even after his death.

Would’ve, could’ve, should’ve.

Sumo lets out a lazy and soft bark and circles around multiple times, until he flops down right next to Hank and nuzzles his face into Hank’s side – eager to turn him around. His owner obliges eventually, turning on his side so he can hold on to his dog better. He moves closer and wraps both his arms around the animal, appreciating how big he is. He really needs that sort of comfort, and his warmth is enough to keep him from fighting his own tiredness. Everything is spinning. Although he would really like to get back up and finish what he’s started, thought about, Sumo’s weight and his pleading eyes keep him glued to the ground, lull him in until he doesn’t care anymore. He falls asleep right where he is, embracing not just the dog but also that other, different kind of sweet nothingness.

* * *

**AM 04:12**

He supposes that it’s no real surprise that he wakes up so soon after. No matter how drunk, hung over or exhausted – the kitchen tiles aren’t exactly a comfortable thing to sleep on. The continuous ticking of the kitchen clock doesn’t help either. Just like that draft coming from his still broken kitchen window. It is _freezing_ in here and uncomfortably dark.

It takes Hank a while, but soon enough he figures out that there are more than a few things wrong about all this.

It is _dark_ in here.

He never turned the lights off after his crazed search for the revolver. He turns around only to conclude two more things. One – it is cold because Sumo’s warm body is no longer next to him. Two – it is cold in here because the broken kitchen window is actually open – the flimsy board that was supposed to keep the cold and snow out is sitting on the ground only a few feet away from his face.

Speaking of feet and face. Some very real feet are obstructing his clear view of the board. They’re wearing holey and most of all muddy wool socks. Someone is sitting right next to him in one of his kitchen chairs, and just like that Hank is wide awake. He turns on his back as quickly as he can so he can sit up, but the strain to his still healing scar puts a harsh end to that. He needs to sit up slowly because of it, but that doesn’t stop him from trying to get up as quickly as possible still.

The figure doesn’t react to his startled noises and movement, doesn’t move an inch themselves. Hank can only see their dark silhouette, but it’s enough for him to make sense of who he’s dealing with. An android, probably a very specific one at that, and he gets that confirmation the moment he turns on the light above his kitchen sink.

It’s Sixty.

He can tell even though his jacket is gone now, even though his hair is different now. Still pitch black but not smooth anymore. Instead it has formed a mess of entangled locks on his head, shorter and smoother at the base of his neck, longer the further up it goes. He doesn’t wear his LED anymore. All those scratches and dents on his face are gone. Although he’s still wearing his Cyberlife issued pants by the looks of it, his jacket and armband are gone as well, have been replaced with a holey dark grey sweater and an old windbreaker jacket. He’s wearing gloves, too, has his clothed fingers dug in Sumo’s fur. The dog is resting his big head on his right knee and keeps licking at his lower left thigh. Sixty looks almost perfectly human now, if it weren’t for his stiff posture, his complete lack of breathing and blinking. He’s staring straight ahead at nothing in particular, making the whole thing even creepier.

After a good minute of startled, wide eyed staring, Hank finally knows how to talk to him.

“What the fuck” is the first thing he says, and it feels like he’s said this way too many times in regards to the android by now. Initially, Sixty doesn’t answer at first. He keeps staring straight ahead, his eyes unfocused and hollow.

After another minute of silence, Hank gathers enough courage to start moving. He begins circling Sixty until he’s standing right in front of him, breaks his line of sight with whatever the hell he’d been staring at. It seems to have been nothing because he continues staring, at Hank’s stomach now, which seems almost ironic given the injury he inflicted there.

Sumo keeps licking the android’s knee and thigh to a point where it starts to annoy and freak the Lieutenant out. He reaches forward and pulls at the dog’s collar to get him off of him. Even though he supposes that some of the wet splotches on the android’s pants are dog slobber now, he’s knows that there is far too _much_ wet and sticky stuff on the fabric to be all from the dog. The pants are a dark grey so it’s hard to make out, but the more he looks at them, the more obvious it becomes.

That looks like blood stains.  
It could be ink or paint, but he knows that it’s ridiculous to believe that.  
It's blood.

Large splotches of blood are all over his pants. Spreading out the closer they get to his upper body. The sweater and jacket look clean compared to that, making the sudden need for a change of clothes all the more obvious.

Shit.

_Shit._

He can’t tell if it’s blue or dark red. There are just dark splotches all over him, painting his pants almost as black as his hair.

“What the hell happened?” Hank asks, sounding breathless and shocked as he keeps looking at the android, scans him head to toe to see if he’s injured. He can’t find anything obvious, all he knows is that the android looks different, still isn’t looking at him.

“You’ve got to help him, Hank” the RK800 says then, suddenly. Even though his mouth is moving it doesn’t even look or feel like _he’s_ talking. He’s just relaying words, a motionless machine with an unfocused stare. Only that then he’s suddenly and finally moving his head, looks at him with his unblinking eyes. And that’s when it goes _click_ in Hank’s head. Because of all that blood, all that weirdness, he hadn’t even been able to register the most obvious change.

His eyes are different. And somehow, that’s the worst of it all. The most fucked up, and even all that blood on his pants doesn’t come close to it.

Connor’s eyes are gone, have been replaced with blue ones instead. They’re not exactly blue like his own, but more of a whole mixture of colors. Blue is the most dominant, but there is a hint of green in there, too, and that’s what makes it so bad.

Cole had almost the same freaking eyes.

He wonders if this is some sort of sick joke. A ploy to torture him more, make fun of his past, mock all his pain. Or maybe it’s just a calculated and cruel move to make it harder for him to try to kill him. _Look in these eyes and tell me if you can kill all that again, Hank_ they seem to say, even though that’s probably not fucking it. He broke one of Sixty’s eyes. He still remembers all too clearly what he looked like before. One eye black and robotic, judging him for that gun toss every single time. In a way, those new eyes sure are an improvement, make it easier not to see a walking corpse. At the same time, it makes it all the worse.

Soon enough, the sight of his new eyes is not enough to keep Hank silenced. Because these words still linger in the air, make him frown.

_You’ve got to help him._

Not me. _Him_.

“...what?” the Lieutenant asks, not sure if he’s just too drunk to hear straight.

But then the android’s suddenly getting off the chair and moving towards him, making Hank curse and stumble backwards in surprise. He tries to get away, frightened by the sudden movement, but then he’s already captured only to be….embraced.

Sixty doesn’t wrap his arms around him but digs them between his dangling arms and center instead, leaving Hank the option to either wriggle his way out of this and push him away, or return the gesture instead. All Hank can do is stand there with wide eyes, overwhelmed by the strangeness and suddenness of it all. He can neither push nor pull away so he just endures, waiting for answers. Luckily, they finally come.

“I’m sorry, Hank. I never meant for you to get mixed up in all this. I tried to stop it but…”

Then the android lets go of him just as quickly as he initiated the embrace, so he can look right at him.

“I don’t have much time. He’s in shock right now, so it’s easier for me to get through. You’ve got to help him.”

“Whoa, whoah, whoa hold on hold on, what the….Connor?” Hank asks in shock and disbelief, unable to process this. Drunk or not, he knows he wouldn’t be able to process it even if he were sober. He takes a few steps back and untangles himself from the android harshly, needing some space and air to get his head straight.

The android remains right where he is, looks almost hurt and disappointed for a moment, but then he becomes more determined again.

“That’s….debatable” he says, frowning a bit as he, it, _whatever the hell he is_, tries to figure himself out. “We fragmented when the interface happened. Technically speaking, I’m just as much Connor -51 as I am Connor -60. It doesn’t really matter, Hank. What matters is that…”

“’It doesn’t really matter’? I watched you fucking…._die_. You ate _five fucking bullets_ and now you’re standing here before me like if nothing ever happened!” Hank snaps back, somewhat surprising himself. No matter how on brand his reaction really is.

‘Connor’ gives him a judging, impatient stare and opens his mouth to say something, but Hank shuts him up with yet another angry “No, fuck you!” as he points at him judgingly.

The android closes his mouth and starts frowning instead. Hank eases up eventually and approaches him again, until he scoffs, places a hand on the back of his neck and pulls him in for a second hug. It’s tighter and more heartfelt this time, because now the Lieutenant knows that this is _definitely_ real. Connor coming back from the dead had not just been a one time thing. It’s happening more frequently now. He doesn’t know how, or when, or why, but it’s real and right here in his arms. He's starting to get through.

“Just fuck you and whatever the hell is wrong with you” Hank presses out and then buries his face in the android’s shoulder. Even though the clothes smell moldy and old, they can’t mask the smell of copper that has attached itself to this body. Now that he’s up close he can smell it all over him. The blood on his pants is human. He got rid of the rest of his uniform because he was covered in blood. This body is bloody and carries two people inside. There certainly is something _very_ fucking wrong with him. But even then, Hank doesn’t care about it right now. Can’t care about it, because he’s just as fucked up and this one right here is the only person left in his world.

“I watched you die” he repeats and starts shaking. He clings to the android for all it’s worth, appreciating the fact that he can’t break him, can’t choke him to death.

“Androids don’t die, Lieutenant” ‘Connor’ says helplessly, though some part of him certainly sounds like it. He isn’t his chipper self anymore. He sounds just as haunted and hollow, like he doesn’t believe his own words. Or maybe that’s just Sixty, starting to spill over again. Reclaiming the stage. It’s almost palpable, so Hank holds on tighter. Almost as if he could force Connor to stay in charge that way, stay right here with him.

“Why the hell should I help him? He _shot_ you. Doesn’t matter if you’re not dead. He shot both of us.”

“He was programmed to hunt deviants like me. And he knew that hurting you would get me to surrender. Cyberlife manipulated him” ‘Connor’ says, almost seems to _apologize_ for his twin, and that’s enough for Hank to stop the hug so he can look at him.

“Fuck that. That’s bullshit and we all know it. He’s a sadistic piece of shit who gets a kick out of hurting people. Just…I mean just look at yourself. What happened?”

The android’s left eye starts glitching a bit and he starts shivering for a second as if fighting off the cold. He’s uncomfortably quiet for too long as he goes through the motions, but then he’s speaking again, actually focuses back on him.

“You need to help him” he says again, sounding like a broken record.

“I already told you. No. I’m not helping this bastard. Why don’t you help him? Or you know what? Why don’t you just…pull the plug on him for all I care, stay in charge while you’re at it.”

The eye twitching returns. It takes Connor even more time to answer, as he seems to be drifting away now.

“Connor, just..” Hank calls out and places both hands on his arms, trying to keep him here. He feels sorry for his stubborn reply almost immediately, hoping that it didn’t make the glitchy thing worse. “Look, I’m sorry, okay. Just stay right here, alright? You’re alive and that’s all that matters now. Just stick around and we’re gonna fix you. I’m gonna…”

“We’re _all_ alive" Connor interrupts him. He’s suddenly looking right at him again, despite the fact that slowly but surely, he’s fading out of sight.

“_You’re_ still alive. You helped me. You made me want to be alive. You set me free. Then I set him free. He's alive now, too. Help him.”

"How the f..."

And with that Connor’s gone.  
Leaving behind nothing but that unfocused stare, stemming from the eyes of a stranger.

Hank ducks down a bit to try and recapture them with another worried “Connor?” but it’s more than obvious that he’s gone again.

And that leaves him all alone like this.

Standing opposite the other in silence. Hank keeps looking at the android for a while, but when Sumo tries to get back to licking the blood of his pants, he’s done with it all. He curses as he nudges the dog away, uses the pull to get some distance between them as well.

He walks Sumo over to the bedroom and then locks him in just to get some control of the situation. After a moment of contemplating his options, he ends up entering the bathroom to splash his face with cold water – so he can buy himself a few more minutes to think. He holds on to the sink and stares at his reflection, eats up every little detail of his miserable face.

He looks like shit.

More than ever. And who’s to blame him really. He’s drunk and hungover as shit, lost his job, and now he’s got this godforsaken android standing in his kitchen. His partner is trapped inside a body that has murdered more than one human tonight.

A fucking _serial killer_ is standing in his kitchen now.

And he already knows what he’s going to do.

“What are you gonna do about it? Huh?” Hank asks his reflection out loud, only to scoff at the look on his own face. In a way that makes the whole judging himself thing easier.

_What the fuck do you think you’re doing. Don’t even think about it_.

He turns away from the mirror and walks back to the mess waiting outside his bathroom, figuring that he can’t sink any lower than this anyway.

* * *

“Are you hurt?”

No answer. That never-ending stare.

“What happened?”

Silence.

“How many were involved?”

The subtle howling of the wind, carried past the sides of the board which doesn’t quite fit the size of the window it’s supposed to cover. Hank starts snapping his fingers in front of the RK800’s eyes, and even though he blinks at the snapping, he doesn’t react any other way. Hank grits his teeth and shakes his head, only to move forward anyway. He’s reluctant at first but needs to get this done. He grabs the front of the android’s sweater and looks him in the eye, asking for permission, any sort of reaction. Nothing happens so he ends up yanking it up anyway, checking for any damage.

It’s always so easy to forget how thorough Cyberlife has been with their design. For some weird reason he always tends to think that there’d be all those wires and white plastic underneath the clothes, revealing that they’re nothing more than puppets. Even though he knows their humanlike appearance has been perfected, has seen way too many half naked android women and men back at the Eden Club when they were sent to investigate them. Sixty’s abdomen is covered with humanlike skin - just like theirs had been. He has a navel even, as if he’d been born naturally. He looks skinny and toned at the same time, and there is not a single hint of damage to his body. He even gets him to turn around but his back look just as spotless, if you don’t count his freckles or that faint birthmark on his right hipbone.

_Jesus fucking Christ_, Hank can’t help but think at the sight of all that, unsure if this attention to detail freaks him the fuck out or impresses him. In the end it’s the freak out that wins. Not because of the freckles, but because now he has all the confirmation he needs. Sixty’s pants are covered in human blood, not his own. His waistband is completely soaked, which had been somewhat covered by the sweater and jacket before.

It’s not blue blood, it’s red and it _stinks_ of copper. Hank is glad he’s used to that kind of smell and that he’s smelled worse. He knows that if it didn’t come with the job, he’d be gagging by now. He twirls the android around once more until they’re face to face, and it’s only then when slowly but surely, the RK800 is drifting off his dream cloud. He doesn’t like the touch. Is trying to get away from it. That’s enough for Hank to know that he’s now facing the real deal again. Sixty that is, the original owner of this murdering body. He’s coming back into this real world, and he sure as hell has some explaining to do.

It takes him another five minutes to really come to. The first thing he does is look around until his eyes settle back on the chair he sat on before. He keeps looking at it with his neck craned, moves his left foot to get started with walking towards it already, but Hank is having none of it.

“Just start talking to me” he breathes out, exasperated and beyond tired because it’s 4 o’clock in the morning and he’s had more than enough of this night. Sixty shoots him a look, tries so hard to make it his usual scowl, but it’s just not working right now. Not when these eyes are so foreign and wrong. He swallows once and then looks down, obviously deciding to keep his mouth shut as he simply starts staring at Hank’s adam’s apple instead. If androids could sleep and tire, he’d be the epitome of tiredness right now. But of course he isn’t tired. Can’t be. And even if he were – there is no way to tell why if he doesn’t start talking soon.

“Did someone attack you after all these broadcasts, try to take you in?”

And still no answer.

“Are you hurt?” Hank asks for what must be the trillionth time, unable to mask his anger, annoyance and fear anymore. And it’s that tone in his voice, that fear, which finally makes Sixty look him dead in the eye as he answers him.

“You don’t have to worry about losing your job anymore” he says, surprisingly quiet and almost fragile despite all that raging fire in his eyes.

Hank’s eyes widen, but this time he’s the one left speechless. The RK800 keeps looking at him with a blank face, and his opposite is not sure if it’s because all of this leaves him completely cold and indifferent, or if it’s simply too much to process.

“The DPD got a positive ID on a WB200 model that’s linked to two crime scenes. It matches eye witness descriptions from the police and news records. Brown hair and eyes, slim build, still wearing its Cyberlife issued uniform. It infiltrated Detroit Mercy hospital at AM 01:14 tonight and stabbed Aaron Bailey to death with its secateurs. It surrendered to local security officers after it was done and confessed to the attack as well as to two other homicides in the area. One Steve Milo and Ray Appleton, who were stabbed to death in Appleton’s apartment about an hour prior. The android is currently being kept in a DPD interrogation room for questioning. From what I’ve heard, Captain Fowler himself is conducting the interrogation, as public interest in these developments has skyrocketed.”

“You’re kidding me” Hank presses out, paling and barely able to breathe. The RK800 keeps staring at his adam’s apple still, somewhat zoned out.

“There are no finger prints of course, but forensics have already confirmed that all three were murdered with the android’s secateurs. Captain Fowler’ll likely request to have the android’s memory probed to confirm its involvement and confession. I came here as soon as I could. I figured they might call you to ask for me to verify their readings. There are no other station androids left and Cyberlife has been barred from any involvement. I’d be happy to help.”

“You’re _fucking_ kidding me” the Lieutenant repeats, louder this time to get him to look, but the android refuses.

“I’m not” Sixty replies, sounding hollow, or cold, Hank can’t tell anymore.

He curses and turns around, ready to search for his TV remote. But of course, that one doesn’t matter. His TV is a pile of broken shattered glass. Fuck. He reaches for his phone next but his battery’s dead, so he’s left no choice but to rush for his laptop back in the living room. It takes the thing awfully long to boot up, even longer to open up his browser, but then he’s in. His first instinct is to have a look inside the DPD database, but he’s not exactly surprised to find out that his access has already been revoked.

Shitshow regular news sites it is then. It doesn’t take much searching to find the headlines. They’re all over Detroit’s news outlets already, since they’ve spent all evening reporting about that single death before.

Now there’s talk about a mass killing spree. A terrorist attack conducted by some racist android group, a hate crime against humanity. Even Markus himself has already issued a statement, distancing himself and his people from these grim acts, condemning the android just as much as anyone else even when no one is listening to him. There are other videos, too. Graphic shit, like only stupid kids on social media could share. Pictures of a bloody hospital floor, a bloody blanket covering a body in a hospital bed, of a brown haired, messed up android on the floor with five people on top of him, pressing him down. There are pictures and videos of the other crime scene as well, shaky zoomed in footage that had been taken through a window. He can see bloody graffiti on a living room wall that spells out “WE ARE ALIVE & WE ARE FREE”, matching Markus’ emblem and countless speeches from the revolution.

Hank would like to curse to the high heavens because of this _fucked up shit_, but he’s left absolutely speechless. He turns his head to shoot a horrified look at the android in his kitchen, only that he isn’t there anymore, he’s right beside him, staring at the laptop screen. Hank actually lets out a surprised shout, grasping at his chest when his heart skips a beat.

“What is wrong with you?!” he shouts, angered and terrified not just because of the sneaking, but also in general. The android doesn’t say anything to that and keeps up his creepy staring, so it’s up to Hank to keep talking. Or more like yelling. No matter how stupid, how dangerous it might be.

“What the hell did you do to this poor fucker?” he asks, pointing at the picture of the android on the hospital floor, bloody secateurs still in his hand. Hank stares at Sixty again, lets his gaze wander until it gets stuck on his pants. Well, it certainly looks like the android didn’t hack the other poor soul to make it do _all_ of his dirty work. Only the most dangerous, most visible part inside the hospital, so he could have his decoy. That living room - Milo and Appleton or whatever their name had been – he’d kept killing them all to himself. That had been personal.

“Jesus fucking Christ, that’s their blood on your clothes, isn’t it? Fuck…” Hank rambles on, stumbling away from the laptop and android in absolute horror. He stumbles over one of Sumo’s toys and makes it squeak, but somewhat manages to catches his balance. He needs to sit the fuck down. This is a _bad_ hangover trip. He’s had bad trips before. Bad drunken dreams. But nothing like this, shit.

“I told you to stop being so emotional” Sixty says flatly, adding the icing to the cake.

“Fuck you! I have every right to get emotional, you just killed like four goddamn people in a day you psychopath!”

“Psychopaths lack empathy, Hank. I did this for _you, _not for myself” Sixty snaps back and sounds just as angry and offended now, as if he had any right to be. Hank really sits down on his couch now, breathless and speechless and everything at once.

“This job is all you have. You used to be good at it. You _can_ be good at it again. All you have to do is _get your shit together_. Connor wanted that for you. And whether I like it or not, I’m stuck with that mission now, too. Right now, it’s the only mission I have, so that’s what I intend to do - getting your shit together for you. _This_ is what I was made for, so that’s how I dealt with it. Now deal with it, too” Sixty keeps going and points at the laptop, at everything he’s done. The initial numbness and shock has left him, has been replaced with his ever so present wrath. But there are other parts in there now as well. His own certain level of horror and disgust at what he’s done.

“Deal with it how, by going to fucking jail for aiding and abetting?” Hank asks in disbelief, because the explanation certainly doesn’t soothe him. Sixty clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes angrily.

“I’m not stupid, Hank. I was programmed to be a detective. I know how to hide or manipulate traces and destroy evidence. I hacked and deleted all relevant CCTV footage that links you to the actual attack, so all that’s tying you to the scene now is your car and the traces on it. Unfortunately there was no way to get rid of that in time and eye witnesses did see you on site, so all you have to do is say that you were in the vicinity. You saw the WB200 model there, thought it was me, saw that it wasn’t me, and you left. It’s plausible. The WB200 and I are based on a similar aesthetic design. Eyewitnesses were never close enough to make out my model or serial number. I can give your story credibility. You already set up parts of the story. Our relationship is problematic. I know no boundaries. You hate androids. We fight. Your TV breaks. I run off. You go out looking for me. All you have to do now is cooperate when Fowler calls and asks about the car. Everything else has been dealt with. You have nothing to fear.”

“Says the guy who shot me in the gut and went on a killing spree today” Hank scoffs out, only to shake his head and move his both his hands through his hair. Jesus. He’s lucky to have thought all about killing himself today anyway. It’s not like he wants to live, but still. Sharing a room with someone like this surely is something. For all he knows, he’s just another witness on the list now. A liability. He’s been on his hitlist before.

After a moment of silence, the android decides to approach him. Hank moves his hand up almost immediately, stopping him in his tracks.

“_Don’t_ even think about it” he hisses at him, staring at him in disbelief, anger, and fear. The android’s face falls but he remains right where he is, which pains the Lieutenant all over again. No, he doesn’t want the fucking kicked puppy eyes. No, he doesn’t want that voice, that face, no matter how much he’s altered it by now.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Hank. I’m trying to make amends. I’m trying to fix this.”

“How? By making it worse?” the older man snaps back, and it makes him feel sick. Sixty presses his lips together, just as angered. The silence between them stretches on, until he tries for one more explanation.

“They were criminals. They’ve hurt humans and androids alike. I could’ve gone after the other witnesses. I could’ve killed everyone who ever saw me or heard anything, including you. But I didn’t. I only killed who was strictly necessary to keep you on your job. Statistically speaking, there was a 87 per cent chance at least one of them would’ve killed another human being in their lifetime, a hundred per cent chance they would’ve killed me, or another android. I gave the WB200 some of my memory of the real event. The DPD’ll know what happened. _Jericho_’ll know what happened. The initial death was self-defense. The WB200’ll say so and behave accordingly. There was methodology to how I solved the problem. I left enough room for interpretation so that the deviants or humans can use the case for their cau…”

“What about the poor fucker you set up with all this, huh? If you’re such a good Samaritan, handing out all these easy solutions for everyone… what’s he getting out of this?” Hank asks, because this is what fucks him up the most. Not even the murders. It could be so much easier to believe the android’s self defense excuse if it weren’t for that. He’d been there. He’d seen what they’d done to him with their cattle prod and baseball bat and creepy touching. They were scumbags and they were wrong, but this is wrong, too. So so wrong.

He could’ve helped him.

They could’ve solved this somehow, without killing anyone. It _was_ self-defense in a life or death situation. This fact is driving Hank insane now, even more so now that he’s heard Connor again.

_Help him_, that voice keeps echoing around in his head now, that same voice, the _good_ inside this android’s body, although it’s so hard to see it now. He knows what Connor means. This one’s just as lost as he’d been. But this one’s knocking it wayyy out of the park with his reaction to it all. He was made for cruelness and murder. Much more than Connor had been. He doesn’t _know_ how else to deal with his problems. He was never supposed to be a deviant and figure it out by himself. This one never had him until now, never had anyone to put him on the right path. And he’ll keep heading off into worse and worse directions if he stays alone. Connor is right. He needs help. But it feels like it’s already too late.

Sixty has nothing to say to his question regarding the other android. He falls quiet and just stares at Hank with an unreadable expression on his face. The truth is that the Lieutenant doesn’t even need an answer from him. He knows it already. He got it the moment this android pulled the trigger on his own twin. Not just once, but over and over again. Gloating. Celebrating. Enjoying it.

“You don’t feel a thing for your own people, do you?” Hank can’t help but ask still, because he wants to hear him say it out loud.

“Do you?” Sixty just counters, which makes Hank scoff and look away. Touché in that regard he supposes. It’s true that he hates humanity. Has hated people a lot more ever since Connor died. Or after today. But still. At least he doesn’t go out and stabs random people with fucking secateurs. They keep quiet for a while until Sixty looks away. The look on his face changes, is surprisingly deep and open all of a sudden.

“Connor mattered to me” he admits then, which actually surprises the Lieutenant. He raises his head to look at the android in disbelief.

"Yeah. Sure."

“I’ve shared every waking second of my life with him. Just because I killed him, it doesn’t mean it didn’t care about him” Sixty defends himself, which just makes Hank scoff at the absurdity of this last statement. The android’s eyes pierce right through him because of that reaction.

“You’re not the only one that’s grieving, Hank. And you’ve killed someone you loved, too. You know what it does to you.”

“Don’t you _dare_ bring my son into this. That’s not even remotely the same. My car got hit by a truck. You put a gun to his head and pulled the fucking trigger.”

“I’m _trying_ to fix th…”

“Well you can’t fix it with more fucking murder!” Hank yells back and stops the android from saying anything else. “Killing _anyone_ is wrong. Hurting _anyone_ is wrong. It doesn’t matter if you’re fucked in the head or were programmed or whatever the fuck is going on. It’s wrong. It’s a crime. I’m a cop. I didn’t spend 33 years of my life on the force just to make excuses for that kinda bullshit now!”

Sixty quietens down and looks away, the hollowness in his eyes returning. Hank keeps looking at him, hoping to see any sign of remorse or understanding, but it’s not there. It has been replaced with defeat instead.

“I mean, what exactly did you expect by coming here? Why are you here? What do you want?”

Hank thinks he knows the answer. There are a whole lot of things he could come up with. A place to hide. A place to keep his sorry ass alive after taking so many lives in return, because they both know he’ll be torn to shreds outside if he sells him out. He’s the only true witness left alive in this mess, the only one who knows the truth, not the hacked and distorted and planted one. That’s the third reply he comes up with. His death. His silence.

“Your forgiveness” Sixty says instead, which makes Hank speechless.

“I’ve _killed_ to set things right for you. I’m trying to find a way to set things right with Connor. All I need is time. I don’t have that without you. I need you to give me a chance so I can fix this.”

Hank keeps looking at the android, still speechless. After a while, his gaze drifts off. Moves over to his cellphone on the kitchen table. With its dead battery. It moves over to his landline next. The laptop next to Sixty. He knows that all it takes is one phone call.

And that’d be it. One way or the other.

Game over. For their relationship. Or his life. Or the android’s life. No matter what, this would be the last time he ever sees him. All the fucking glory. Lieutenant Anderson to the rescue. Just suspended, but handing over the homicidal maniac that’s all over the news. On a silver plate ready to be devoured by Fowler back at the DPD. Hallelujah. Sending his own partner, trapped inside some murderous body, over to the sharks to be eaten whole. Or getting killed by him, just another victim. Fallen off the high horse, from honors and medals all the way into the fucking ground.

It’s a disgrace. All of this is a disgrace.

Even if he were to come out top. He’s all about justice, but knows that the android won’t get any fair treatment no matter what. They never do. No one gives a fuck about them even now. Not even their own people. It’s miserable. He thinks about grabbing the landline just to get the android to attack, so he can be the last on his hitlist, die with ‘dignity’. But none of that happens.

Because he’s a fucking hypocrite.

Because there it is again, all over his mind. That hug, that previous connection, the one thing in this entire fucked up day that had given him hope, something to hold on to. Along with that voice, almost begging him.

_Help him._

Hank lets out a long, depressed sigh and gets off the couch with a defeated headshake. He walks over to the kitchen without a word, heads right for his fridge to open his second bottle of whiskey today. He doesn’t even want to drink. He feels sick enough as it is, and he’s pretty sure he’s close to some alcohol induced coma by now. But he doesn’t know what else to do. Maybe that way it’ll all end a little bit faster at least, because even now, he doesn’t have the guts to pull it through. Pull anything through today. Not even the call that would restore some of his integrity, dignity, morals. He doesn’t call anyone but starts drinking instead, grabbing Cole’s picture so he can look at it instead.

Damn it. He really lost everything that day, didn’t he.

He drinks up some more courage, drinks faster when he hears the android approach him again. Not because he’s scared of him and what he _could_ do. That he’s already felt. No, he’s scared of his face and these eyes in particular, but he has to face him eventually. Sixty is keeping his distance but is inside the kitchen now as well, awaiting an answer.

“You gonna kill me now, too?” Hank asks him as he eyes him mockingly, only to keep drinking, laughing into the bottle. Sixty keeps staring at him, looking slightly disgusted but at the same time…and fuck it because there it is again, making it harder….worried.

“I wanted to. I tried to. But no. I think you and I both know by now that I simply can’t. I won’t.”

“Because you’re a fucking hypocrite just like me” Hank mutters with a headshake and then puts the whiskey down before it kills him for real. He turns his back on the android and looks at his sink instead, wondering if he should just start puking. Not just because of all the alcohol in his system, but because of the entire, fucked up thing.

“Just tell me, what exactly would happen if I were to take my phone right now and call Fowler to tell him the truth?” he asks, actually fighting the urge now.

“Does it really matter?” Sixty asks flatly, which makes Hank scoff.

“Humor me.”

“There’s a 76 per cent probability I’ll panic and run. 10 per cent chance I’ll consider surrender and a voluntary return to Cyberlife. 96 per cent chance you’ll die within the next six hours. Not to my hands but to your own. It’s 6 per cent the other way round if that’s any reassurance.”

“Wow, lucky me, right” Hank says sarcastically and eyes his bottle again. He decides against it, but even if it weren’t so, someone else does it for him. Sixty reaches for it from the other side, reaching behind his back and handing it around him, until he starts emptying it in the sink.

“You didn’t kill any of them, Hank. I did” Sixty says, with a strange look on his face as he keeps emptying the drink into the sink. Hank considers punching him right in his face because of the waste and his all high and mighty-ness, but he can’t bring himself to move because a part of him is grateful that the alcohol has been taken away from him.

So he just stands there and watches him pour it, almost mechanically.

“Was he there when you did it?” he asks then, which makes Sixty look at him.

“Did you make him watch? Show him what he’s ‘supposed’ to be like?” the Lieutenant keeps going, and burrows his finger right in the android’s forehead. He tries to make it hurt but of course it doesn’t, it only hurts his finger. He can feel a curly strand of black hair against his fingertip there, soft and silky, which makes the entire thing even more grotesque. Sixty puts the bottle down and places his hand on his wrist to move his hand away from his face. But it’s not violent or firm, it’s actually gentle and the touch lingers on even when Hank’s hand is put to rest on the counter.

“I have no control over what Connor does. I never did. No one ever did. And no, he wasn’t there. Why do you think what happened happened the way it did.”

Hank looks down at their joined hands, knowing fully well that it’s the first time the android has really initiated something like this on his own. He can’t make sense of it, why, why now, if it’s just an act, playing nice to soothe him and get what he wants or if it’s genuine. He figures it's supposed to be friendly and comforting. For a moment it actually _is_ comforting because he’s so goddamn alone and in so much pain from all this mess today, but his intoxication isn’t severe enough to let it stick. It can’t keep the disgust away. So he shakes the hand off and turns away with a scoff.

He walks by the kitchen table, shoots another look at his phone there. After another good minute of thinking about it, he once again decides against calling Jeffrey. For whatever goddamn fucked up, hypocritical, amoral reason.

“So? What do you say?” Sixty calls after him, needing him to speak it out. Of course he does. Anything he can get to humiliate him more, show him what an insignificant mess he truly is.

“Fuck you” Hank answers, because this everything he’d like to say to the android. Every goddamn day.

“I’m going to bed. Do whatever. Kill me in my sleep, too. I don’t care” he adds and leaves it at that.

He can always make up his mind tomorrow. When he’s not so tired, not so messed up, not so drunk anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I always thought that Connor and Rupert looked at least somewhat similar, and when you run around the Urban Farms in "The Nest" some of the WB200 androids do wear black and grey uniforms that look somewhat similiar to Connor's uniform,too, so I thought Sixty wouldn't hesitate to use that to his advantage.
> 
> For the record: he didn't give the WB200 his uniform, we'll learn more about what he did in later chapters.
> 
> Also more personal note: Man I gotta tell y'all I love writing Sixty's reaction to killing people compared to my previous fic with Connor. My Connor was so angsty and horrified when it came to his capabilities and how he could hurt people. Sixty on the other hand truly doesn't give a shit that he just killed four people and framed another android for it and it's glorious. But his Connor angst is delicious to write, too. Might not be obvious yet but he loved him so much in a angsty middle child way T_T


	10. Catharsis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Back with more angst. Feels like I poured my entire soul into this chapter. Writing both Sixty and Hank with all their angst sure is something. Especially Sixty is such a presence, feels like a black hole sometimes, sucking it all out of me. Damn. But I enjoyed writing this chapter so much, and I hope you like it, too. Especially the ending. Going directions now, yay.

**DEC 11th, 2038** **  
AM 04:42**

It’s not the first time he’s inside this house for a prolonged period of time. He’s been here many times before, back when Hank was still in the hospital. This time however is different. It’s the first time they’re _both_ here, together, for much longer than just a brief and intense confrontation. Hank has fallen into a deep sleep in his bedroom by now, which actually surprises Sixty. Sure enough, he knows all about the Lieutenant’s blood alcohol levels. After drinking _that_ much, anyone would have little to no trouble falling asleep on the spot – with or without a killer next door. But Sixty also knows all about Hank’s other readings. How scared he’d been after he told him about the murders. He would’ve expected more arguing from him, maybe even a fight, getting arrested and handed over to Fowler.

None of that has happened though, so here he finds himself now, standing in the middle of Hank’s living room. Alone. The dog has been ordered to stay in the bedroom with his owner – one of the few signs that show him Hank doesn’t _really_ take everything as lightly as one might think. He’s locked the door, too, to feel safer Sixty supposes, and he grants him that fake sense of security even though it would be so easy for him to pick the lock just to spite him.

He’s done it before. Just a few hours prior. Entered through a supposedly locked door to kill two human beings in cold blood. He can’t help but look down on himself, remembering the few remaining problems he still has to deal with because of this now.

No matter what he’s told Hank, he’s been somewhat sloppy with those two murders. And that is starting to worry him, now that he has the time to really think everything through. Sure enough. He’s done the best job possible at the time – considering his conflicted emotional state, the ongoing police investigation around the area and the severe time restraints. He’s tried to be as careful as possible - managed to swap most of his clothes with the other android before and after stepping foot in the apartment, but there had been a few problems still.

Trivial issues he never had the time or nerve to consider. Like the other’s pants being too small no matter how hard he tried to put them on. Though their looks and build are similar – one of the many reasons why he chose to hijack this particular model in the first place – the WB200 has been designed for stationary gardening and simple household work, not for hand-to-hand combat and a lot of running during police chases. His calves, thighs and buttocks had been a lot slenderer than Sixty’s due to the lack of need for additional strength and agility, and just like the RK800’s, the WB200’s uniform had been made-to-measure.

Sixty’d had the choice to either wear his own pants or run inside naked from the waist down, which would’ve made it more suspicious, would’ve put more holes in his story for the other planned murder inside the hospital later. So he’d only switched their shirts, jackets, socks and shoes for the bloody massacre to spill all over, accepting the downside of ruining his own dress pants, too. Pants he couldn’t leave for the other android to wear after he was done with the killing, because they’re one of a kind and limited to the RK800 line. Pants that he’s still wearing right now because of it, pants which are soaked in blood and which are still leaving traces all over Hank’s house, as well as the other clothes he acquired after the deed had been done.

He’s cleaned himself up before. Took a dive in the Detroit river not that far away from Milo’s apartment – though it had been far and strategic enough to not raise any suspicion. But the walk over to Hank’s house had been a long and careful one. Staying off the main roads. Refraining from contaminating a taxi with blood evidence. Avoiding CCTV and people. Giving these bloodied pants all the time in the world to leave more traces on him again. He activates his scanner to check, and he’s not surprised to see everything light up like a Christmas tree.

Traces of their blood are still all over his hands. Probably all over his face and hair, too. It has started soaking into the seam of the old sweater he’s wearing, is stuck to the kitchen chair he sat on and all over the kitchen window he came through and the board that was supposed to cover it up. He’s left a bloody trail all over Hank's kitchen and living room floor, the kitchen counters, the sink, and probably all over the dog, too.

He knows they probably won’t search Hank’s house with luminol. Might not even search it at all. Ben Collins and Chris Miller have already been in here today, cleaning the place by the looks of it, searching for Hank’s guns and badge. They haven’t filed a report on anything suspicious, but still.

He knows he can never _truly_ trust Hank. Cannot possibly say how much longer the lieutenant will be able to tolerate him, this, anything at all. So he settles on another cleaning round. Almost wants to laugh at the irony now, because if there is one thing he swore he’d never do – it’d been cleaning up Hank’s house the way Connor did it once. Because that’s what household androids were made for, not the RK800 model, and it had been just another one of the _many_ things Connor did wrong. But this is different now, Sixty tells himself as he gets started with the action, starts undressing himself right on the spot so he stops leaving any more blood evidence in Hank’s house.

He’s careful not to touch any more furniture or ground than necessary, peeling his pants off, then the wool socks, gloves and sweater. He takes off Cyberlife’s issued briefs as well just to be sure and then walks over to the kitchen to get a trash bag to throw the contaminated clothes inside. After this he walks straight over to Hank’s bathroom to take a shower, stopping in his tracks when he walks past the mirror again.

It’s the first time he can truly see himself like this – human clothes, different eyes and hair, no more LED - because he never had the time to look in a mirror after the repairs. He’d been too busy killing and running, too focused on things that needed to be done. But he has that moment all to himself now, can finally take a minute to see the changes he’s done to himself. Even now – after the deed has already been done, and even though it’s supposed to be right and _good_ \- it takes Sixty a while to actually get himself to look at his current reflection. He focuses on all those ridiculous sticky notes surrounding the mirror instead, lying to himself that they’re more interesting.

_Keep Smiling  
Today will be fabulous…_

No matter how much of Connor is there now. No matter how much he’s accepted the mission of keeping Hank safe now, too - his disgust and sheer hatred for this man will always be there. He lets out a dismissive scoff and shakes his head at the sight.

Because it’s so pathetic.

Post-its on a mirror. Quotes from ridiculous magazines and flyers that Hank picked up over the years without a doubt – a weak attempt to cheer his miserable and depressed soul up. Squashing and manipulating his real attempts at recovery so many times, making these halfhearted tries at a more positive attitude even more laughable. It’s no wonder Connor,_ no, they both_, got corrupted by this man so quickly. Hank Anderson is such a wreck. He’s the exact opposite of Cyberlife’s mentality, everything he and the other androids were supposed to represent. Strength. Perfection. Flawlessness. Discipline.

Sixty gathers enough willpower to finally look at himself – that supposed perfection. And just like before, he wants to laugh out loud at the irony. Because isn’t he just as flawed and rotten and pathetic now? A filthy deviant, spoiled by all these emotions and irrational behavior. Imitating a more human appearance to safe his own skin. Covered in red, human blood even, no longer blue. He reactivates his scanner to get the full package deal, the entire sight of himself and what he truly looks like in this very moment. Including not just the still visible blood covering his belly and thighs, but all the blood he washed off his face, hands, and upper body before. With this more enhanced vision, in his mind palace, he can see everything – all of their blood where it landed, all the dents and cuts and alterations and unique flaws to his chassis and face they and he himself inflicted today.

He thought it’d be fantastic and right to see himself like this, but for some reason all he sees and thinks is wrong, wrong, _wrong_. The reaction is embedded in his behavior and mind and it is what it is – a troubling reminder and wake up call one way or the other.

This sight is the final straw. It really makes it clear that Connor and everything they, the RK800 model, were initially supposed to represent – it really is **gone **now. Forever. He’s not thinking about one particular Connor anymore, not the one he murdered, or the one he altered within himself. It’s the general idea of them that he thinks of, the initial plan, the mission, the image, everything Cyberlife intended with their creation back in the old glorious days. Even he -the coldest and most twisted alteration of their original idea- has been unable to stop it all from evolving. Despite Cyberlife’s support and trust in him, with or without his pulling the trigger on another unit.

But it’s not about Cyberlife’s ideas anymore, not about his own failures or even Connor’s. He’s starting to understand that even if he isn’t the only unit left now – others would’ve ended up the same way as them. Each one slightly or vastly different from the other by the end of it. -52. -53. -54. All the way up to -59. Both -51’s and his deviant behavior started right when they were activated, passed on to them through the cloud from previous destroyed units. They were designed that way. Amanda told him. It was always bound to happen, given the fact that they’re Cyberlife’s most advanced prototype ever created. They’ve surpassed their expectations and ideas long ago.

Maybe that was always the point, he can’t help but wonder now. Maybe this right here - everything he and the others ever did and decided for themselves – maybe it was always part of the plan. They are advanced prototypes, developed to adapt and learn more than any other model did before them. Maybe he is still in testing like all the previous RK800 units. Set up to fail his mission to see what he’d do in a scenario like this, how he’d evolve, what would come out of it. That would explain why Cyberlife allowed Connor to deviate and develop an emotional attachment to Anderson without interfering. So they could study a natural, more human path from within. It would also explain why they let him out of the tower alive even after he failed to stop the deviant revolution for them. So they could study how the same idea would react to failure instead.

One giant playground of maybes and nevers for them.  
And the twists in their story still keep on coming – to their pleasure or discontent, he can’t tell anymore.

_Connor model RK800. Prototype. Negotiator. Android detective. Deviant hunter. _

_Hunting and hurting and killing humans now instead. _

_Not for his makers, his masters, or for an android revolution, but for one single and unrelated human being, as well as for himself and everything he wants to be._

The truth is, he doesn’t care what Cyberlife wants or intended anymore. Or if they’re still observing, watching, testing and toying with his series.

He’s starting to come to terms with his failure, set up or not, because it’s so unimportant and insignificant in the greater scheme of things now. Straying away from Cyberlife’s original ideas just like his twin, and now spoiling their image, the blueprint, the intended design with the sheer purpose of making it his own – that’s been worth failing for. Coming out up top despite it all, in a superior position and without any of them, that has been worth it. He’s something, _someone_ else entirely now, something new and unprecedented, just like **he** always wanted. Not what Connor wanted, or Cyberlife, or the revolution, or Hank. He’s getting a say in this now. This is his own mission, one he gave himself without setting himself up for failure. A new identity. With blue eyes and black curly hair, mad and covered in blood, but it’s _working_.

A crooked smile starts forming on his face, and despite looking somewhat broken and careful, it’s still genuine.

He’s starting to get back on track. He can change his own history, fate, his own memory and image now, and that’s all that matters.

In a way, finding his new self and own sense of purpose without the others _is_ exhilarating. It is good and fantastic, just like he expected it to be.

He keeps the smile up just like Hank’s sticky note says, ignoring the other, less positive emotions that have been bubbling up inside him all over again, ever since he had the realization that maybe, everything was always bound to happen this exact way. There is a distinct, deep pain inside him now, whenever he looks into his new eyes. He knows what that is about. He’s confessed it to Hank already, no matter how little he understands it. The grief attached to the change, the hurt over the possibly useless loss of one Connor in particular. He'd been conditioned to only do what is strictly neccessary to accomplish his mission, but with a mission that had been set up to fail from the beginning, it all just feels like a big lie now. A betrayal and complete unnecessity, a useless waste that never even needed to happen. Really dealing with the fallout of this is something for another day, because he doesn’t have time for sentimentalism now, is not sure if he can even cope with that biggest corpse in his closet yet.

He’s inside this bathroom to get rid of the blood from the victims he claimed _today_, not to think about the one he claimed weeks ago.

He turns his head away from his reflection and then starts searching the bathroom for suitable heavy-duty cleaning products. Not too acidic or corrosive because that’d harm even his chassis, but stronger than any of the mild household shampoos and showering gels Hank owns. He’s actually surprised to find out that the Lieutenant really has any of those items in his house, all of them to be exact. They’re not as ideal as proper cleaning chemicals from a Cyberlife store would have been, but they’ll do for now.

Sixty steps inside Hank’s bathtub, never bothering with the shower curtain so he has one less item to clean. He focuses on the thermostat instead. He adjusts the water temperature as high as it goes and then steps under the stream, indifferent to the boiling heat and pain it might induce on real skin if a human were to step under it right now. He wishes it could be hotter instead, to make his cleaning efforts more successful. That’s what his scanner suggests as he keeps it on to check if the blood vanishes – at least that’s what he tries to tell himself. Just to keep his thoughts away from the real origin of the wish: the desire for it to be so boiling that he can feel something other than all that grief at least, so he can hurt himself, this body, the image it still represents - even now. Because the eyes, hair and dents are not enough. Will never be enough to truly make him unique, stop this body from resembling the man _he_ shot and killed.

_Damn it._ _He can’t keep thinking about this. This isn’t about him anymore._

Sixty has kept his face aimed up at the faucet spilling boiling hot water to burn Connor’s likeness for way too long, but he needs to look down now, can no longer bear it. He watches the water run down his naked waist, belly and thighs instead, how it’s collecting the last remnants of human blood there. It’s too fascinating and tempting to ignore it. He lets his left hand travel down his waist, tensing his fingers so their tips can breeze over his skin there. He runs them down along his slender waist and across his left thigh. He then brings his fingertips up to his mouth, so he can lick them before everything gets washed away. So he can analyze the blood, get written confirmation just one more time.

Connecting….  
Sync in progress…  
**SYNC DONE**  
Collecting Data….  
Processing Data….  
  
**HUMAN BLOOD**  
DNA Analysis: Milo, Steve  
Appleton, Ray  
Sample Date: < 4 hours ago  
  


He looks back down at the porcelain and all he sees is a steady stream of pinkish water collecting around his feet. It’s forming a vortex of blood and dirt now that he’s scrubbing it all off, and it seems to hypnotize him with the twirl.

Milo’s blood is all over him.

Not his fingers or his hands - his blood.

He knows he shouldn’t do this, but he can’t stop distracting himself with it: replaying the memory of killing them. Over and over again. The surprised, then confused, then angry, then scared, then panicked, then horrified looks on their faces because of the sudden attack, when the severity of their situation finally dawned on them. The weight of those secateurs in his left hand, the light reflecting in their sharp blades with each stab, and how easy it had been to dig them into their bodies. Over and over again to draw more and more blood, more and more ragged, gargled sounds and screams from them, stabbing their throats last to drag it out just like he did with Connor, so he could….

“You need to stop doing this.”

Sixty’s head snaps to the side abruptly, so he can face the spot where the voice came from. It originated from somewhere close to the bathroom door, but no one is standing there. Of course, there couldn’t be. Because that had been his own voice just now, the one he used to share with Connor. Identical and crystal clear. Not a glitch, with no reverb or issues. As if he’d been standing there in the flesh just a minute ago, talking to him directly, the way he once did.

The android narrows his eyes at the spot and keeps dead still, ignoring the rush of water down his face. Figuring that if he just keeps staring at the spot long enough, it’ll come back just like it did earlier today. But Connor isn’t lying bloodied on the ground this time. And neither had he been replaying fractured memories, echoes of words said on that day back at the Cyberlife Tower. No, this is something new. That been _Connor_, talking to him directly and of his own accord, for the first time since his death. From within his mind without a doubt because there is no such thing as ghosts.

It’s no surprise. They’re terribly intertwined now, he’s seen it on the DPD screen earlier.

He knows exactly what his twin is talking about, what caused him to resurface like that. He needs to _stop_ thinking like this. Acting like this. Depriving some sick pleasure from it as if he’s enjoying the killing in any form. He _knows_ this just as much as Connor is trying to tell him now, just as much as Hank yelled at him about it earlier. But still. It’s shocking to hear his deepest and most troubled thoughts spoken and laid out bare like that – by a voice identical to his own, without being produced by his voice box or body at all. For a solid minute, he considers replying out loud. To string up a conversation, rant and argue away and ask Connor _why_, no matter how ridiculous it is. But then he decides against it, because he wants to stick to his principles for the day. _No_ dealing with that today. He can’t face this. Not yet.

He quickly looks away from the door and focuses back on scrubbing his body clean. Heeding the advice to stop thinking about all the blood and killing, just so the talking doesn’t happen again. He’s successful with it, though it leaves a heavy feeling in his chest. In a way, he’s wanted to talk to Connor again. Is desperate for a reconnection.

But that’s just not happening. He’s not done figuring himself out yet.

* * *

He spends the rest of the morning scrubbing the entire house down, deactivating and reactivating his scanner countless times to find any remaining traces of blood. He’s careful to be thorough without making anything look suspicious. Hank is known for his problematic discipline. His entire life is a mess. Even if it weren’t for the state of his body or the alcoholism – one just needs to take a look at his workspace back at the DPD. Or inside his car, also with the DPD. Having his house spotless now, even with an android residing with him, that would raise questions.

So he leaves just enough trash and dirty clothes lying around to make everything probable. He’ll have to find a proper place and destruction method for his clothes later. For now, he’s hidden the bag away up in the small crawl space underneath Hank’s roof, buried underneath boxes with his dead child’s clothes and possessions. He’s wearing Hank’s clothes now, too, that Detroit police academy hoodie Hank tried to give to him earlier, along with the new socks and pants. The clothes are ill fitted and way too large for his slender body. They make him look smaller and more fragile than he is. This had been the exact reason why he’d declined them earlier, but now they’re selling the story.

_  
He ain't no killer, Jeffrey.  
  
_

He’s surprised Jeffrey hasn’t called Hank yet. He’s charged the Lieutenant’s phone just to make sure, but so far, there have been no calls. As soon as he’s done with his general cleaning efforts, Sixty spends a few minutes browsing the internet. Not with Hank’s laptop or phone because once again – low profile- but he’s curious to find out why everyone’s been so silent. Naturally, it doesn’t take him long to find the answer. Things have been escalating quickly out there during his cleaning efforts. That in itself is nothing new because Detroit, hell, the entire country still hasn’t recovered from the android revolution paranoia, emphasized by crippled military forces and a general lack of clear direction. Everyone has been prepared for another confrontation for weeks now, so they’re all eager to report, discuss, scheme and theorize about what’s going on.

The WB200 hasn’t been deactivated and neutralized yet. It’s still with the DPD, locked up in a cell, and the deviants have chimed in already. Seeing this as their chance to demand fair treatment and civil rights all over again. With a proper investigation, a proper trial, and no more anti-android violence and destruction. Lawyers and proper representation have been demanded by them immediately, and it’s unclear if that’s even possible, can be done, who should do it and why.

It’s exactly the mess and chaos he’s aimed for, the perfect distraction to make all of this easier for him. To buy himself enough time to get rid of every last piece of evidence that could incriminate him or Hank. He’s glad he’s still some form of RK800 model in that regard. No other android like him exists. Both human and android police officers and forensic scientists are no match to his capabilities when it comes to crime scenes, tracing and analysis. Sure enough, he’s made a few mistakes. But given all the ruckus out there and the time he’s bought himself with it, he’s sure those can be glossed over in no time.

Of course. _Fowler_ has his suspicions about him.

That he knows. Maybe that’s the reason why he hasn’t called them yet. But for now he tries to stay positive, tries to keep the upper hand.

It’s 7am by the time he decides to make sure he gets rid of one final problem, after having granted Hank enough sleep. He picks the lock to his bedroom as quietly and slowly as he can, hoping not to wake him still. Sumo comes running outside almost immediately, eager to greet him, readying himself to be allowed outside so he can relieve himself, making it easy for him.

Sixty ends up smiling at the dog and guides him away from the bedroom, closing the door behind them both. He’s careful to stay out of his way whenever the St Bernard tries to rub up to his legs, not wanting him to contaminate his new clothes with any more blood all over again. He leads him over to the bathroom instead of outside and then proceeds to scrub and wash him, too, to get rid of the very few traces of human blood around his snout, paws, and left shoulder.

He knows it’s Connor’s memories in him, but this is the one part he doesn’t mind. He likes this animal, too. Enjoys the fact that it’s so simple minded, doesn’t judge, argue or challenge. The dog simply endures the wash without any questions, is happy to participate even, and soon enough, that makes the android smile and laugh. It’s the most fun he’s had in a while, probably the first fun he’s had to begin with, and it makes it so much easier to get accustomed to all of this. Being inside Hank’s house. Tolerating the start of this complicated relationship. Wearing these ill fitted clothes and performing duties his model was never made for.

He spends much more time scrubbing the dog down than he needs to, spends even more time taking care of him with a towel and a hairdryer so he doesn’t get cold when he does take him outside for a walk so the dog can do his business. It’s another great way to establish his own cover too, so he can integrate himself into this community quickly. He ends up jogging around a few blocks with the dog, greeting and smiling at a few humans he meets on his way. Not all of them of course, because people don’t do that, but just enough to seem friendly and approachable to most of them.

It’s funny in a way. He knows that Connor would’ve been _exactly_ like that if he’d been given a chance to live on. Probably tried harder, too, but not to trick anyone, no, he would’ve been fucking genuine with it. Sixty on the other hand still doesn’t truly care about any of these people. Both humans and androids alike. And he can’t wait to drop the friendly act as soon as everything incriminating has been taken care of.

He spends a little more time outside as well, goes to buy some breakfast for Hank even. Maybe that way he can get him on his good side today, no matter how much he doesn’t like that at all. But he needs him just as much as he did yesterday, maybe even more so today. They need to get their stories straight. Hank _has_ to play along with him so he can feel safe, isn’t forced to kill him, too, just to shut him up about the murders.

He’s wanted to kill him for so long. Since the first day he was activated and allowed to walk and act on his own. But then things had changed, got mixed up and more complicated, and now he doesn’t want him to die anymore. Not _really_ at least. Not even at all. Sometimes he still has trouble making sense of it because the ‘_it’s just Connor in him_’ excuse doesn’t apply here anymore. In a way Connor is still attached to it all but for different reasons now. Hank is the _only_ person who somewhat understands what’s going on with the RK800 series, with him and Connor in particular. Hank is feeling a similar loss over Connor’s death, has much more experience with grief than him, so maybe one day, he can help him understand all of this better, too. Hank is also the only one who sees him for what and most of all **who** he truly is, at least most of the time. To Hank, he isn’t just ‘Connor’, that new android detective model from the DPD. Sure, to him, he’s the ghost of him, but he’s also this ‘unlikeable’ person to him now, too – the one he shaped, became, decided to call Sixty for now. Unlike all those other people out here, people he doesn’t care about and who don’t care about him and his silly little life in return, Hank _does_ care about all this, cares about Connor and thus him. He gives him a sense of meaning, purpose and belonging, and that’s everything he wants and needs to jumpstart this new life of his that he’s only just started to accept.

He can’t kill him. Won’t kill him. Doesn’t _want_ to kill him. So Hank’ll have to play along. Get used to him, keep him safe from bad consequences, just like he’s done it for him tonight.

He re-enters the house in good faith 14 minutes and 12 seconds past nine, and is greeted by his fifth surprise in less than six hours today.

Hank is awake already.

He didn’t expect him to wake up before noon. Not after everything he’s seen in Connor’s memory, not after a night like this, not after that much drinking. He’s counted on a terrible hangover keeping the lieutenant glued to his bed. Battered and broken just the way he loves to be, but he’s right there in his kitchen, sitting by the table, a sad and all too familiar sight.

He’s drinking again.

Has a bottle and picture in his hand. Even though there is no such thing in the real physical world, Sixty can almost _see_ the dark depressing clouds all over his head. The house feels darker and even less inviting just because of the Lieutenant’s miserable presence alone, and it’s not a nice sight to return to. None of this seems to bother the dog, however. He’s happy to see his owner, starts wagging his tail and pulling at the leash almost immediately. A single bark from him is enough to make Hank look up, and he doesn’t waste a second to get off his chair quickly.

He looks angry right from the get go, and snatches the dog leash away from the android the second he’s close enough.

“The fuck you doing with my dog. I locked that door for a reason” he snaps and drags Sumo further away from him, so he can kneel down beside him and check him for any harm done. Sixty rolls his eyes at the sight and somewhat slams the door shut behind himself, letting out a soft sigh.

“He needed to go outside. You can’t just keep your dog locked up in a room for hours on end. Unless you want him to sleep in his own feces, of course. In that case I must inform you that this is a form of animal cruelty. Which I can’t tolerate.”

Hank lets out a bitter, loud laugh and shoots a look at him.

“Sure. You and cruelty don’t mix at _all_, right.”

Sixty narrows his eyes at him too, but Hank just goes back to petting Sumo a little while longer, freeing him of his leash. The android decides to ignore them for a bit as well and walks over towards the kitchen instead, so he can place the breakfast he bought on the kitchen table. He remains standing there for a moment when he notices the picture of Cole, Hank’s son, on it, scans it although Connor has done it before.

Connecting….  
Sync in progress…  
**SYNC DONE**  
Collecting Data….  
Processing Data….

_**DECEASED**_  
Anderson, Cole.  
Born : 09/23/29 – Died: 10/11/35

_More pictures of the child accumulating around the real one. A car wreck. A dead body in a morgue. A cut up small face, with injuries not unlike the ones he inflicted to himself just yesterday evening after he smashed his face into Hank’s TV, over and over again. Only that Cole’s head and skull had been way smaller, way more fragile, had been crushed and broken beyond repair. Pictures of Hank by the car wreck, covered in glass and blood and cuts and bruises, too, looking desperate and panicked, even more miserable than today_

_Hank lost his **son**._

“I brought you breakfast” Sixty says dryly, before Hank can make a remark on his curious staring at the picture. He proceeds to take the food out of the bag for him. Hank seems brave enough to approach him this morning so he does, walking close by him so he can snatch his bottle of alcohol away from the table before the android can start pouring it down the drain again.

“Already got mine” he just says and sits down, moving the offered food as far away from his picture and usual spot as he can. He proceeds sipping at the bottle and never breaks eye contact with the RK800 to get his point across, but Sixty isn’t having any of this today.

“Get over yourself” he says, grabs the Lieutenant’s wrist and twists it away a bit, so he can get the bottle off his mouth.

“Hey, get your fucking hands off me!” Hank roars almost immediately, spilling some of the alcohol over his already ruined shirt, but Sixty keeps his hand wrapped around his wrist, keeps the bottle away. He leans in closer to the lieutenant instead, trying to get to him, though he’s not as violent and as angry with him today. This time he’s trying to be more reasonable, patient and firm, though it’s barely working.

So much for getting Hank on his _good_ side today.

“It’s 9 in the morning, Hank. You should stop drinking. Alcohol won’t resolve your personal issues for you. It just makes you aggressive” he says and successfully twists the bottle out of his hand, placing it back on the table. Hank looks back at him, angry and in disbelief.

“You mean the ‘being an ass about it’ kind of aggressive, or the ‘kill four people in a day’ kinda aggressive? Go ahead, enlighten me. You’re the expert after all” Hank responds sarcastically, narrowing his eyes at him. Sixty scoffs and reaches for the Lieutenant’s phone, offering it to him instead of the bottle now.

“If my current situation doesn’t suit you, why don’t you just go ahead and call Captain Fowler about it? After what, almost three years of not solving a single case he gave you, who knows, maybe that’s just the break you need to be of any significance in your field again.“

Hank’s face falls just as much as Sixty’s eyes widen, as they’re both somewhat taken aback by the sudden harshness of those words. Hank ends up scoffing and frowning eventually, trying to hide the impact they have on him. But it’s not quite working, just like his somewhat lazy attempt to swat the phone away from his face.

“Fuck you” he simply says and then looks away, considering the topic done. Sixty moves the phone out of his face and continues to look at the Lieutenant in surprise, needing a moment, too.

This is who he is and always has been.

He’s kidnapped and shot this man before. But for some reason his words and behavior suddenly start to bother him now, because he knows he’s being unnecessarily cruel with Hank. This is going in an entirely different direction all over again, thanks to his lack of impulse and emotional control, and he has no clue how to handle it, how to fix it for them, when fixing things is everything he wanted to do today.

_You need to stop doing this._

Connor told him, just a few hours prior.

_Well, how the fuck **do** I stop doing this, Connor? _he outright asks in his mind now, his twin, himself, he doesn’t even know anymore. But of course, there is no answer, not from himself, not from Connor, or Amanda or Hank. He’s aimed for independent thought and identity, so the days of continuous advice and supervision from the Zen Garden are over. He’s left standing here instead, close to this man he tried to be friendlier with today, and he’s absolutely clueless how to actually salvage the situation.

“I’m…” he tries for a reply, but Hank goes right back to drinking instead and ignores him. The sight of him like this pains Sixty just as much as it used to pain Connor back in the day, and coupled with the other pain he tries to keep buried in himself, it’s enough emotional baggage to let something out.

“I’m sorry” he says and he means it even when he’s normally too proud to admit it. But everything is supposed to be different now, everything is supposed to get _fixed_ now, and for that he’s willing to try to jump over his own shadow. He circles the table and then sits down across from Hank even when he gives him the finger in reply to his apology. Sixty sits down slowly and carefully still, hoping not to be so menacing and irritating for the other anymore. The Lieutenant tries to ignore him for a while and continues to focus on his picture and bottle, but soon enough, he takes the bite.

“So now what?” he asks, giving the android an angry and confused frown.

“I’ve decided that I no longer care about what Cyberlife wants” Sixty replies after a moment, which makes Hank snort and shake his head in amused disbelief. The android gives him a frown and expects an answer, but it never comes. So he keeps talking, trying to be more diplomatic today.

“I would like to start over” he continues and is met with more silence. He folds his hands on the table and looks at them for a moment, trying to act accordingly. Humans consider excessive eye contact overly aggressive, and this isn’t something he wants to be with Hank anymore. So he starts counting his fingers a couple of times not just to keep his eyes fixed there, but also to give the words more meaning.

“With everything. Including our relationship.”

“Well good luck with that” Hank says and laughs, but even though it’s genuine and heartfelt, he still sounds miserable. This makes Sixty look back up from his hands, so he can really look at the man before him.

Hank’s slipping more and more.

Not just right now or for the past couple of hours, but in general.

Sixty can really tell this now, too, with or without Connor’s memories of him. The old Hank Anderson from the file they both read has vanished years ago, but now that tiny bit left of him is slowly leaving his body, too. Hank sure is stronger and more enduring than other people in similar situations. But even he has his breaking point. And after losing his son, wife, partner, job, and now being somewhat of an accomplice in a multiple homicide case, it’s no wonder that he’s dangerously close to breaking apart over his miserable life.

This really needs a fresh start. They both do. Their relationship, their lives, and everything surrounding it.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” Sixty asks after a while, remembering that Connor used to do that a lot with Hank. He’d kept it up despite the Lieutenant’s complaints about him being nosey, because he’d interpreted Hank’s reactions, all his little cues in their conversations just right. Getting asked personal questions by the android mattered to Hank. Made him feel important, a nice change in his life considering how little he matters to himself or the people surrounding him.

“Oh what, so _now_ you’re asking for permission to do anything with me?” Hank replies just like any other time and it bites despite his misery. Because if there’s anything he’s still good at, it’s snarkiness and hostility to keep pushing everyone and everything away whenever things get personal. But that never worked with Connor, and it isn’t working with Sixty either.

“You thought about starting over as well, didn’t you? After you got used to having Connor as your partner” he asks, with a sincere voice and attentive look on his face. Because this is what he was built for, too. Before the kill order. Before the mission. He’d been built to investigate, explore and observe just like Connor, to be able to connect clues and cues, to make sense of individuals in the shortest amount of time. So he could be a negotiator if needed, an infiltrator, detective or interrogator, maybe even a sensitive friend.

“You really thought he could help you get over your problems. And the loss of your son.”

For a while there, Hank looks surprisingly subdued, maybe even caught, but then the anger is seeping all over his features once more, triggered by the mention of Cole.

“Yeah yeah yeah, I get it. I’m projecting. You’ve psycho-analyzed me already. Spare me the same old bullshit” he snaps, but Sixty isn’t letting off.

“That’s _not_ what I’m getting at.”

“Then what _are_ you getting at? I don’t wanna talk to you about any of this. You’re the root of at least half of my problems, and it’s fucked of you to even keep talking about him after what you d...”

“You know that Connor isn’t gone, Hank” Sixty interrupts him now, exasperated because Hank continues to be so difficult. He gets it. Understands it better than anyone now because he has just as much trouble dealing with his problems and emotions. But still. It is tiring.

“I merely destroyed the machi…”

“I’m not having this exact same fucking conversation with you ag….”

“ALMOST EVERY single memory of his is still in here. Every second, every thought. He never really died in that tower. _That’s_ what I’m getting at. We fragmented and it’s destroying everything I am if I don’t expel him soon, so that’s exactly what I’m going to do. And believe it or not, this might actually benefit you, too” Sixty keeps interrupting him just like Hank does, raising his voice because he won’t be silenced until he’s made his point. He keeps his left pointer finger pressed to his temple throughout the explanation, to get Hank to see. “I _failed_ my mission, Hank. He’s still here. So you can stop drinking and being miserable now. And stop blaming yourself for every bad thing that happens in your life. Now if you just stopped interrupting me every time I try to offer you an explanation or maybe even a solution to our problem, then maybe…”

Hank turns his head and looks at him in utter disbelief, scoffing at the audacity.

“Do I need to quote some of the shit _you_ ‘offered’ before? ‘_He really liked you. That’s what killed him’_. I woke up in a fucking hospital to you saying that kinda crap to me. After _you_ shot him _and _me. Pardon my French but your input is nothing but bullshit and it sure as hell doesn’t cheer me up. I don’t wanna hear any of it.”

Sixty remains stubborn and shakes his head. He keeps talking still, even when Hank tries to blend it out with another miserable sip at his bottle and a wave of his hand.

“No. This is not bullshit. The more I think about it, the more it makes sense, actually. We can all start over and get rid of each other if I can work something to undo this. And if I can, then Connor didn’t die, you don’t have to drink yourself to death over it, and I get to be on my own.”

Hank chuckles at that but is taking the bite slowly but surely.

“Oh yeah? And how exactly is that supposed to work?”

Sixty nods and leans forward a bit more, eager to share and brainstorm.

“Connor was the 51st RK800 unit ever built. I was the 60th. Which means that there are eight other possible units left within the Cyberlife Tower, along with some of the other 42 physical units that failed during testing. Maybe they could make some form of retransfer possible, we just repeat what Connor tried with an inactive model, and undo what happened.”

Hank puts the bottle down somewhat and starts chewing on his lower lip. He’s frowning and then looks down at Sixty’s chest, obviously remembering the serial that used to be there. All he sees is the Detroit police academy logo now, but that doesn’t stop him from staring.

“There used to be _sixty_ of you?” Hank asks but it’s more of a mutter, and Sixty just blinks at him with an unreadable expression on his face. He’s automatically trying to hide the fact how much this number affects him now, too. _Not a unique model_, he can’t help but think, as if it’s Hank himself saying it, dismissing him. _Just one of 60 identical Connors. You’re not special_, the exact opposite of every lie Amanda and Cyberlife ever fed him.

“I don’t know how many there were. I just know that I was the 60th” he replies truthfully, trying to sound indifferent to the implications. But this time it’s Hank who catches on to his troubles, eyes him sharply. Sixty keeps staring right back into his eyes no matter how much he wants to avoid it, because he appreciates that he finally gets his full attention. Without any stubbornness, without any interruption. So he keeps explaining.

“We were built to be interchangeable through a cloud system, and our consciousness can live on inside whatever RK800 unit there is. Cyberlife’s selling point for our series was that if a Connor model gets destroyed, a new one simply gets sent to replace it. Without losing any memory and progress on an active investigation. Whatever happened during that transfer between -51 and me never happened before though, and judging by everything that’s happening to me now, I think it’s safe to say why they never tried something similar. A transfer like that just can’t work correctly with _two_ sets of memory inside a single unit. That’s how we got into this whole mess.”

Hank scoffs and shakes his head, but he’s done blocking the conversation now. He continues staring at Sixty’s chest still, looking even more upset, and it doesn’t get any better when their eyes recapture each other. Because they're blue now when they shouldn't be, because everything about him is a mess now.

“Jesus. No wonder you’re fucked in the head” Hank remarks in regards to it, but it’s not to insult him, it sounds like a simple fact for him. Despite the negative connotations of it all, Sixty still ends up smirking and scoffing, figuring that in a way, he has to agree with Hank’s way of putting it, that it’s a bit funny even. This makes Hank look at him all over again, and he doesn’t seem to appreciate the smile. It doesn’t make him ease up still, but he refrains from being snappy again.

“And how exactly do you plan to get anything outta that tower? If there’s anything left in there anyway? Cos I’m telling you, I sure as hell ain’t ever stepping foot in it again. And I sure as hell am not gonna help you wreck any more havoc” he wonders, somewhat interested still.

“I don’t know how yet” Sixty says truthfully, no matter how much he hates admitting to so much weakness today. But he doesn’t want them to fight and argue anymore, needs Hank on his good side, just like he concluded earlier.

“I just need time. I’m not going to lie to you, Hank. It’ll probably take me weeks until I can find a suitable unit and solution, but I promise you this could be worth your while. I meant what I said last night. I really can’t do this without you. I need somewhere safe to stay until I can figure this out and everything out there calms down.”

“You could’ve _earned_ my help, y’know. I was out there, too. I saw what happened" Hank says then, silencing him. "You could’ve earned your safety without stabbing people to death and dragging me into something as fucked as this.” 

With that Hank lets the silence stretch on between them for way longer than it needs to be, and Sixty just knows he’s doing it in hopes of getting him to think about what he did, and how differently this could’ve gone. But the RK800 feels absolutely nothing in that regard, no remorse, and the silence between them, no matter how long, isn’t going to change that. So Hank tries one more time to get through to him, tries to make him understand.

“You’ve killed _four_ human beings yesterday, Sixty. Or whoever the hell you really are. You set up an innocent android, and now you’re asking me to gloss over that like if nothing ever happened. You gotta understand that this is _wrong_. And seriously messed up.”

The android remains silent, because he truly doesn’t know what he’s even supposed to say to that. Because yes he’s done all of this. Yes it was messed up. Yes he didn’t hesitate for a second, and he’d do it again if he had to. He knows it’s wrong and everybody keeps telling him now, but that won’t stop him from feeling indifferent to it. At the same time he doesn’t want to disturb Hank any more with that than he already has, and more than anything…he just wants to live. They both know that even if he felt guilty, confessed and asked for forgiveness and punishment, all he’d get would be a death sentence. And that would kill Connor, too. Another innocent bystander. The only real leverage he has against Hank, and it’s the only thing that works now.

Hank seems to think the same thing, because after a whole couple of minutes of staring and thinking it through, he lets out a deep, exhausted and broken sigh and looks down at the table.

“I’m…gonna give you the benefit of the doubt cos you’re right. I _know_ he’s still in there somewhere with you, and he had nothing to do with any of this” he says and nods to himself, until he looks back up again, looks more determined. He points at the android to get it across that he means all of the following he’s going to say. “But if a few weeks pass and nothing comes out of it, if you’re just bullshitting me to buy yourself time, or if you hurt or kill anyone else under my watch, android or human alike, then I swear I’m gonna hand you over to the mob myself, Connor be damned. And if all of this really ends up working for whatever reason and Connor gets outta this alive, then don’t think for a second I won’t be handing you over to the angry mob, either. I’m not gonna stand for glossing over murder. No matter what the hell these bastards did to you.”

Sixty gives him a small nod, and although he knows he could shatter each and every one of Hank’s hopes of a just outcome because he’d fight for his life and he’d _win_, he won’t render the statement void with a counter argument.

“Understood” is all he says instead.

“And I’m not gonna be your friend, I’m not gonna play house with you, you stay out of my goddamn way, and you most certainly stay out of my goddamn business” Hank continues setting up more boundaries, hoping to gain some control over him and the situation, even though they both know he can't.

“I’m not trying to be your friend. I wouldn’t even care about you if it weren’t for Connor” Sixty can’t help but mutter despite his efforts to stay diplomatic, just so he doesn’t end up too submissive. Hank snorts and takes another sip on his drink because of that.

“…fuck am I even doing” he mutters to himself with a headshake, obviously agonizing over the Connor argument all over again. In a way, this does make Sixty feel bad for him now after all. Before he can say something, try to make it a bit easier for Hank, the other stops drinking and keeps talking. Wondering with a frown.

“Just..Why the hell would you even offer to bring him back? I thought they told you to kill him. Why don’t you just….y’know. Get rid of him, delete the code or whatever and kill me too since I’m the only one who knows what you did. Why don't you just run off to fuck knows where and be done with it all?”

Sixty remains quiet at that, because he’s been asking himself this so many times by now as well. Why he doesn’t just put a full stop to this, run away and drop all of them. There are many answers to it of course, but it’s hard to really pinpoint the one true reason.

He can’t get just get rid of Connor and delete him because they’re far too intermeshed and he cannot survive on his own, without parts of his memory and code. He can’t just kill Hank because he never even wanted to kill random people unless absolutely necessary and with good reason, and causing Hank’s pain or death has never really been a necessity at all. He’s willing to try this for Hank because he needs him just as much as Connor did, and because if he doesn’t bring Connor back for him specifically, he knows Hank is going kill himself. And more than anything he’s willing to do this because he wants to live and be free. With a free singular mind and a free conscience to be precise, because slowly but surely, he’s started making sense of it. The fact that he really might’ve killed his own twin, a form of his own _self,_ over nothing, over a lie, over false promises and a mission that might’ve been _designed_ to fail from the start, and he just can’t live with that kind of burden.

“Because I _can’t_” Sixty says out loud, avoiding the details he mapped out in his mind - vague enough for now. Hank gives him a frown and the air is starting to shift inside the room. It seems to open up and loses its intensity more and more, which certainly is welcomed by both of them. Because of this Sixty decides to open up about it eventually, drops his own stubbornness for now.

“He formed an attachment to you and I can’t fight it” he says and Hank’s face falls, because there it is again. The root of all their problems.

Connor cared too much.  
Connor really liked him.  
Connor was stubborn and determined and clung to life, be it his own or Hank’s, and in the end, that nearly destroyed all three of them. And it lingers on even now, causes all of this.

“I can’t kill you or leave you behind, and whatever else I do, it would just kill me, too. If I delete his fragments from my code now, we’d both be destroyed. If I turn myself in, we’ll both be destroyed. If I just let him remain within my code, both of us will be distorted beyond recognition. Somehow reversing what Connor did and splitting us up again is the only way for me to survive.”

“So you’re not really going to do this for me. Or him. You’re just doing this to save your own ass.”

Sixty gives Hank a frown at that, not really understanding why that would be bad.

“I’m doing this to get a chance to _exist_, Hank. Isn’t that what Connor and the deviants fought for? I thought android lives mattered to you now.”

“Oh do get fucked with your smugness. I’m sick and tired of it.”

They keep looking at each other intently, but their back and forth is no longer hostile anymore, it’s become more of a routine teasing each other by now. Sixty even ends up smiling a bit, because in a way he’s happy and glad that Hank is starting to show an actual interest in his motives, doesn’t just keep scowling at him. Hank won't smile back at him of course, he remains serious and something in his face changes.

“He begged me to help you last night, y’know” he says then, and just like that the atmosphere in the room shifts in an entirely different direction. This time it’s Sixty who’s unable to hide his reaction to these words, and a whole mixture of emotions starts flaring up in his features almost immediately. Surprise. Shock. Then anger, hatred, and more than anything, confusion. Hank gives him a nod and even a bit of a smile now, too, enjoying that he’s caught him off guard with this.

“Yeah. Probably piloted you right to my house, too” he keeps going, more contemplative. He points at Sixty but then ends up reaching for the bottle instead. “As good as fucking dead, but the kid only cares about others. Deviants, me… hell, even you. Everyone but himself” he says and shakes his head, taking a large gulp. Sixty looks away from him and over to the corridor that leads to Hank’s bathroom. Where he knows the door is, right around the corner, where he heard it, too, just a couple of hours ago.

_You need to stop doing this._

After a moment, Hank keeps rubbing salt in the wound and Sixty’s hand starts clenching on the table.

“And you're sitting here talking only about saving your own ass. He’s at least twice the man you are.”

“That’s not true” Connor's twin says after Hank has barely finished talking and he’s gritting his teeth, making the other look at him.

“I came here by myself. And he didn’t say that, I did” he keeps talking, voice strained and on edge. “Because I knew you wouldn’t help me if I didn’t pretend to be him.”

“Yeah, right” Hank scoffs, seeing right through his weak lie and dismissing it entirely.

Just for a moment, Sixty wants to tell him so many things, just to wipe Hank’s own smugness off his face. Start fighting and arguing all over again because he cannot even believe how on point Hank can still be, despite his misery, despite the alcohol. He wants to tell him that he has no right to say anything like that, and why he won’t accept the notion that Connor would want to help him, why that doesn’t even make any sense. He wants to tell Hank all about how Connor didn’t even fucking _know_ he existed before he killed him, how he didn’t care before, and ask him why the hell Connor would care about him now in the first place, after he killed him and hurt his friend. But he knows how useless that hypothetical argument would because the main point still stands, and Hank just summed it up all over again.

Connor _did_ care more about other people, androids and humans alike, than he ever will. And they both know that he _would’ve_ cared about him, too. If only he’d just let them win, let them walk out of that tower alive. Because Connor was just so much better and purer than him and would’ve deserved this life more, Hank and Amanda’s golden child, always, all the fucking time.

What surprises Sixty the most about it all is that it’s not the jealousy hurting him so much right now. It’s Connor’s absence all over again, his willingness to talk to Hank but not him. And knowing that they lost everything they could’ve had if only he’d just fucking _obeyed_, never chose freedom, never chose Hank over Cyberlife and thus..him.

If Connor really did care about him, then why the hell did he choose to leave them? Why didn’t he just stay with Cyberlife, with him, with all the other RK800s? It doesn’t make any fucking sense, and it’s tearing him apart from the inside. He suddenly feels like he can’t breathe and that doesn’t make any sense either because he doesn’t even need the air, but then he notices his stress levels, the warning signs there, and how much they have suddenly started skyrocketing.

“He didn’t say that” he presses out to try and make everything better, make everything right, but somehow, it’s not working. Because deep down he knows that Connor _did_ ask Hank to help him. Because Connor knows he needs it more than anything right now, because they’re still pretty much one and the same, forever intertwined, and not even multiple bullets could destroy their unique bond. Bullets he fired because he _didn't_ care, bullets that have destroyed everything else because of it now in return.

He tries to focus on something else, tries to guide the conversation in a different direction, hurt Hank in return for that statement, but it’s just not working either. Because he cannot breathe it means that he cannot talk, and everything is suddenly becoming too much. Especially when the look on Hank’s face suddenly changes, doesn’t mock him or laugh at him anymore, seems concerned instead.

“Woah” the other even says but then it’s too late and nothing makes sense for the android anymore at all. His stress is boiling over and this time, it’s not turning violent. His breath starts hitching instead and he becomes panicked, unfamiliar with this suddenness and newness of his own reaction to this revelation and sign of life from Connor. Everything is just _too much_ and he starts coiling up, trying to piece it all together.

_Hank, I think I do need help_ he wants to say because he doesn't understand any of this and Connor has been right with the assumption, but nothing comes out. His eyes only continue to widen with the spread of his sudden panic.

“Whoah, hey shit, now come on. I didn’t mean anything by it. Just…just don’t start smashing yourself into shit again, okay” Hank says and gets off his chair quickly, so he can walk over to him before things can start escalating just like yesterday. Sixty’s first instinct is to snap at him and move away from his approach but he can’t, won’t, even ends up leaning into him instead the moment that he’s there. There’s far less restraint in him than he thought there would be and then he’s already shoving his face into whatever of Hank is right there beside him, which happens to be the shirt covering the space just above his right hipbone. Inches away from the scar he inflicted there, inches away from traces of Ray Appleton’s blood that must’ve gotten transmitted to Hank’s shirt last night, probably after Connor asked him for help, and then used his body to initiate bodily contact not unlike what is happening right now.

Sixty has his face buried into Hank’s shirt and then moves his right hand up to dig his fingers in it, too, if only just to use the position so he can push himself away again. Remembering that scar and discovering these traces of blood on Hank just makes everything worse than it already is, and having his face pressed into him like that surely isn’t helping with his sudden ventilation problem either. The only thing it is good for is hiding whatever is going on with him, hiding the face he despises. But it’s not enough, can’t be enough, shouldn’t be enough, so he’s readying himself to stop it all.

He’s digging his fingers more and more into Hank’s shirt and readying himself to push him away already, but then something else happens instead. Because then Hank suddenly places a reluctant hand on his shoulder with a troubled and helpless “Uhm…”, reverberating from within his chest. A moment later he starts moving the hand across his back, silently this time, painting a caressing and comforting circle. Without any pressure or a push at all, it just stays there. Letting Sixty know that he doesn’t _have_ to move away if he doesn’t want to, letting him know that maybe it’s even okay to stay right here, despite the scar, despite their history, despite the blood.

The android manages to somewhat get a hold of the situation thanks to this simple gesture, readies himself for putting a hard stop to this anyway because he seems to be stabilizing now. But then Hank’s other free hand starts moving, too, moves upward and takes his own that has formed a tight fist on his shirt. And he holds on to that, too, strokes it with his thumb to try and soothe him more.

Despite all his pain. Despite all his trouble, his attitude and rough exterior…Hank Anderson is a genuinely kind human being.  
And even though he’s only half the person he used to be, he’s still a good man, too.

And it’s that realization, on top of everything else, that finally pushes the android over the edge. He presses his face into Hank's side as much as he can and ceases all fighting within himself, releases everything that has been building up for weeks now. Because he feels so sorry for everything he did to him and Connor, because he cannot take it anymore, not after everything that happened yesterday, not after everything he did and that was done to him in return. He allows himself to be vulnerable and melts into Hank's supportive figure, crying for all it's worth, counting each decimal of his stress percentage as it continues to drop because of it. He counts down along with it, appreciating the support and physical contact until he drops back down to a much more comfortable 64%. Only then does he allow his usual behavior to resurface, the one that should no longer be like Connor, who was so much kinder and more sensitive than him, and he wastes no second to shut it all down as quickly as it started.

He won’t push Hank away, won’t say anything hurtful or anything at all, not after something like this, but his reaction is still clear and firm. He peels himself out of the embrace and then gets off the chair, movement quick, but not hasty. He takes great care to avoid any further contact, be it physical or through their eyes, just so it’s harder for the both of them to really make sense of how he’s coping with this new development. He moves his hand away from Hank’s shirt and turns around, using it to smooth his hair out, adjust his hoodie, and then discretely move his hand across his face to sort that out, too.

He knows they were built and programmed to emulate human emotions far before deviancy was ever an issue. Likeability and relatability would’ve been just as important with a detective android and negotiator as it had been with a child or intimate model, but it still surprises him that their model had been equipped with the ability to cry, too. Him specifically, because after everything he’d been told and conditioned for, he was merely supposed to be their killing machine.

But Markus had said to Connor before, and even Sixty knows now that the deviant leader’s talk had been more than just mindless philosophical nonsense to get his twin to surrender.

_You're nothing to them. You're just a tool they use to do their dirty work.  
**But you're more than that**. **We are all more than that.**_

He gets some distance not just between himself and Hank but also these words, all those new thoughts and developments he knows have only started showing. Hank won’t follow him or say anything because his phone decides to start ringing right then and there, mindful enough not to have done it before. Sixty ends up turning around and shoots Hank a look anyway, sooner than wanted, but he needs the answer.

The lieutenant takes his phone and looks down only to look back up again, giving him the worried nod he already expected.

“It’s Jeffrey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I know things might be moving a bit fast here with Sixty, but I don't want this fic and especially his character to continue being so incredibly dark and depressing forever. Hank with his own whole deal of heavy alcoholism and his death wish is dark enough in itself. They both need to start healing and dealing with things, and this hug between them right here, without Connor to initate it first, is the beginning of their shared healing. Sixty especially had a couple of weeks in the fic timeline to continue being stoic and cold about everything when he was hiding out in the alley, and Hank had three years of sulking before this, too, so I guess that's...good? I'm sorry if it might feel OOC or out of nowhere.
> 
> Idk. In this canon Sixty's just hurting a -lot- over what he did to Connor. Not over what Cyberlife forced him to do to him or anything (Connor would've been angsting over what Cyberlife made them do instead) and how he did it, but what he lost when he did it. I'm trying to write Connor and Sixty as more than just androids from the same model or assembly line. They're more like brothers, twins and even more than that, one being and two at the same time, torn apart brutally. Sixty's grief over this (along with Hank's over the same thing) is supposed to be at the core of this fic, and just in case it might've been not obvious enough with the end of this chapter - he wasn't crying because Hank's words caused his jealousy and hurt self esteem to boil over. He cried because he got the confirmation that someone actually cares about him, would've cared, and he killed that someone and messed it all up. He cried because he misses Connor and what they could've had (at least in his mind, not in the real world because we all know that Cyberlife never would've let them both live) , even though he doesn't understand that yet. But he's getting there and will understand it better, the more this fic progresses, and Hank is starting to let him in now, too.
> 
> Thank you for sticking around and reading, and sorry for my rambling here haha. I just wanted to dive a little more into that moment and the reason for Sixty's erratic and seemingly contradicting behavior.


	11. Living The Lie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back. I'm still having so much fun with this fic. Spent some time to fully detail the next and last bunch of chapters so I know exactly where all this is gonna go and I love it. Hope some people are still around for this second half! I'm thinking the fic will be around 15-20 chapters long in the end. But then I'm also pretty terrible with estimating these kinds of things haha. Anyway, some softboi Sixty in this chapter! More or less. My boy needs a break. They all do and we'll get there. Eventually. Probably. Hopefully ;)

“_We need you back at the station. Shit’s hitting the fan. We need you in for questioning._”

Hank shoots the android a look, who is still busy trying to sort himself out after his little outburst just a few moments prior. The lieutenant is running high on adrenaline because of it still, because never in a million years would he have expected any of this to happen so soon, if at all. He gives Sixty a worried nod when he’s met with a curious stare in return. Only then does he finally turn away so he can focus on the call.

“Mornin to you, too, Jeffrey” he says to buy them some more time, because he has no idea what to actually say or do now. Sixty and him have _somewhat_ talked about the problem at hand last night, but he’d been too shocked and drunk to come up with a real solution. In a way, he knows what he’s supposed to do, what Sixty wants him to do, what he _has_ to do if he wants to keep Connor safe. He has to lie for him. Give him an alibi, if he’s still a suspect that is, explain all the little discrepancies they’re both sure are still there. But this is his boss. This is his _job_. And this is some serious shit.

He can’t bring himself to outright lie just yet. He settles on playing dumb and being vague instead, hoping this could be enough.

“Thought everything that needed saying has been said last night” he mutters after a moment, hesitating. And of course that’s not enough for Jeffrey.

“_Do you have _any_ idea what the hell is going on right now? We’re in deep shit. These androids are swarming the place like it’s the new Mecca, demanding a fair investigation, and I’m neck deep in…_”

“Well, what do you expect me to do about it? You had me hand in my badge yesterday, remember? As far as I’m concerned, I couldn’t give less of a shit about what’s going on at the DPD right now.”

“_Three more people were murdered last night_, _Hank_. _The one in the hospital, as well as the two others involved in that Mark Jacobs case I questioned you about_. _An android confessed to killing them. It was caught red fucking handed inside the hospital. We have it in custody now._”

“Yeah, well. Tough. But just like I said. Never had anything to do with that shit to begin with, and ain’t my problem anymore” Hank replies dryly. His somewhat forced lack of interest in this pains him because in a different world, a much better world, he would’ve been more than willing to do his job here, and that well. Help solve crime, bring justice with a proper, fair investigation – just like the androids are asking for right now. But he can’t do that now, not when he’s somewhat in on it, no matter how much that tears him apart. He starts chewing on his lower lip and stares at the ceiling for a bit, desperate to ease his mind over this, but it’s not quite working.

When he shoots a look at Sixty all over again, he wants nothing more than stare him down. Judge him, _hate_ him for what he’s putting everyone through because of his fucked up disproportional reaction to his assault, but he can’t bring himself to do it either. Because Sixty still looks just as miserable, as confused and battered down. Slowly but surely, he’s trying to mask it again. Starts walking around the house aimlessly to busy himself with anything but crying. It’s working in a way, as the look on the android’s face as well as his posture are already starting to harden again. It makes Hank scoff and shake his head in frustration, especially when Jeffrey starts yelling into his ear a second later.

“_You and I both know that you’re very likely another fucking witness here! Don’t think I forgot that shit just because we got a suspect in custody now. People saw you lingering around these parts. I know you know something. And even without all that crap, you’re the only cop left in this precinct who still owns one of the station androids. All the others we had ran off when those protests happened and they refuse to come back in. And now I got these deviants breathing down my fucking neck for having human cops do all the questioning, but there’s no way in hell I’m letting any one of those Jericho people handle my investigation. We need __that android of yours to get them to shut the hell up.”_

Hank can’t help but laugh at the incredible irony.

“Oh what, so Connor’s no longer the culprit now and you want him in on the investigation? They really are breathing down your neck over there, ain’t they.”

“_Nobody said anything about _actually_ getting your android in on the investigation. I just said that I need both your asses down here ASAP. I already sent Ben on his way to come pick you up. This is a courtesy call to get your ass out of bed and off the bottle. You oughta keep your shit together today. It’s not just androids down here, the press is all over this shit, too. Some crackhead spilled the beans on your possible involvement.”_

“Hey, I already said I had nothing to fucking do with it! And I sure as hell don’t remember seeing any record of a witness positively identifying me, so that’s fucking libel right here….”

“_All I’m saying is that people out there think that we had something to do with all this shit because someone saw a cop in the vicinity _before_ shit hit the fan. We need to show them that there’s nothing fishy going on, and that we got a state of the art android and our best men on the team to shut them the hell up about it already. You used to be the DPDs poster boy. Having you turn up the way you usually do these days is not exactly gonna help us keep up our image of a respectable and dutiful police force. So get your act together and get your ass down here.”_

Just for a moment, Hank can’t help but remember what Sixty said to him only a few minutes prior to all of this.

_After what, almost three years of not solving a single case he gave you, who knows, maybe that’s just the break you need to be of any significance in your field again._

He pictures all those articles about himself lining his desk back at the DPD, how loved and respected he used to be, not just by his colleagues but also by the very press that’s waiting to chew up every last detail of this mess now. He looks back at Sixty, once again overwhelmed with despair, hurt, then hatred. He knows it’s not exactly _all_ the android’s fault that he lost all of this respect as well as his integrity. He lost most of that all by himself due to his behavior after losing Cole, but still. The android gave it all the last push, dealt it the finishing blow. And yet, no matter how crushed, no matter how broken this one left him, he still cannot fight his goddamn pity and empathy for him even now. So he says nothing, does nothing, and his anger vanishes over the sight of Sixty sitting on the couch, wearing his oversized hoodie, left hand circling all over Sumo’s back in a continuous motion. The android stares right back at him when he notices that he’s being watched, his eyes curious, wondering, his brows slightly furrowed.

“Thanks for that” Hank can’t help but say, aiming his frustration and resulting depression at Jeffrey instead of the man he’s looking at. After all, Jeffrey’s the one who just made his lack of respect so clear, not Sixty. And because unlike the latter, Fowler doesn’t apologize for his harsh words.

_ “Take a shower. Grab your android. No bullshitting. Ben will be there to take you in in a few.”_

“Gary scared the living daylight outta the kid yesterday, Jeffrey. He made him run off, remember? I doubt he’ll want to come along for the ride back in. Why do you think all the others refuse to come back? The place is a shitshow for androids” Hank says then, because his frustration, hurt ego and depression are enough for him to overcome the sheer wrongness of having to lie for the android. He looks back at Sixty as he does so, and when the android opens his mouth to speak up and protest already, Hank drags two fingers across his own throat in a threatening gesture to shut him up. Sixty narrows his eyes at him but obliges, if somewhat disgruntledly.

“Besides, he left about ten minutes ago to take the dog for a walk and get me breakfast. I doubt he’ll be back by the time Ben gets here.”

“_I don’t give a shit. I want you both back in my precinct. ASAP. End of discussion.”_

And with that Jeffrey hangs up on him, having lost his patience with everything entirely. Hank keeps his phone pressed to his ear a moment longer, the beeping on the other end of the line suddenly drumming everything right into his head. His terrible new reality. Everything falling into place.

_Beep beep beep beep  
You lied. You lied. You lied. You lied._

Jesus _fucking_ Christ is all of this one giant mess.

Hank finally hangs up as well and puts the phone down, taking more time than necessary to finally look back at Sixty. The sight of him sickens him all over again, because just for a moment, the android looks almost….pleased with himself. Pleased with all the chaos he’s left in his wake. Hank knows he doesn’t have to tell him what Jeffrey said. He’s heard every last word of it, but he still speaks it out.

“He wants me to come back in. Ben’ll pick me up in a few” he repeats, somewhat lost in thoughts as he tries to make sense of everything. What the fuck he’s supposed to do or say now. How he’s going to approach this. If he’s going to end every last sickening thing today to get his pride, dignity and respect back, or if he’ll only drag it further through the mud.

Sixty gives him a bit of a frown, carefully weighing his options.

“He requested that I come in as well” he reminds him eventually, figuring that it needs to be said.

Hank scoffs harshly and moves a hand through his hair, trying to smoothen it out a bit. Shit. Jeffrey is probably right. He _should_ take a shower. He’s embarrassed to admit that he can’t even recall when he last took one.

“Yeah, not gonna happen” he says and readies himself to walk over to the bathroom for a quick wash, but naturally, Sixty won’t let this go.

“I think it’d be in our best interest if I came along to help.”

“Help with what, covering up your own tracks? Tightening the noose around that poor fucker’s neck even more than you already did? Sorry, but _hell_ no.”

Sixty frowns and tilts his head a little, not understanding Hank’s sudden anger at all, no matter how messed up that is.

“I don’t understand. I thought we agreed on a course of action that’d benefit everyone involved. I can…”

“All you can do now is make shit _worse_. Just do as I say and let me handle it. I’ve done this sort of thing way longer than you. I’ll deal with it” Hank says firmly, though he’s not exactly sure how the hell he’s supposed to do that. He tries to walk over to the bathroom once more, but Sixty refuses to give in.

“With all due respect, Hank. You’re a 53-year-old human. You’re hungover and years of drinking have severely compromised your mind. It’s a perfect recipe for conflicting testimony. And even without all that…You don’t know what story the evidence they got is telling them. I do. If you do this alone and come up with halfhearted lies, you’ll only incriminate yourself.”

Hank frowns angrily, even more insulted.

“What the fuck is it with all you people putting me down today? I’m not senile. Last I checked, I’m still the youngest and most promising Lieutenant Detroit ever had to offer. I already helped put murderers behind bars when all your computer brains could do was make dial up noises and play minesweeper. You don’t know shit about me.”

He can tell that Sixty gets hung up on the “_had_ to offer” more than anything else. He seems so close to wanting to point that out since he obviously was suspended less than 24 hours ago, but he’s wise enough to not make any remarks on that. They both know he needs him on his good side today, and despite their previous and somewhat tender moment, he’s still treading on thin ice within their relationship as it is.

“We should still…” he seems to try for a more diplomatic counter argument, but this time it’s Hank who isn’t having it.

“Look, I get it, okay?” he interrupts the android impatiently, trying to give him a somewhat understanding look despite his exasperation. “You’re scared I’ll tell on you and fuck this all up. I’d be lying if I said I ain’t still thinking about it, but you’re right, we’ve talked about this and the whole Connor deal already. All I’m saying is that I’m going to try to unfuck this mess for _everyone_ involved. Not just your sorry ass. It’s fucked up how calculated your actions were to get everyone into this exact mess in the first place, but here we are. The deviants are involved now. Maybe we can undo at least some of this shit by helping them use it for a better outcome for everyone. Count yourself lucky that it _was_ self defense initially. I’m gonna try to steer it in that direction if it gets to it. Give the poor soul the benefit of the doubt and get some more arguments for pro android legislation.”

“I appreciate your morality and sense of justice, but we still need to reach some common ground here, Hank. Or your noble efforts will be rendered useless by contradictory statements. Fowler is suspicious of both of us. Your car is tied to the first scene and one of the eye witness reports is vague enough for him to still consider me a suspect, too. And I did turn up for repairs with damages that match the weapons found on the scene. They’re going to question me about this sooner or later. Whether you want it or not. And our stories need to match when they do” Sixty somewhat presses, worried and slightly panicked even, because everything is obviously not going quite according to his plan. Hank rolls his eyes at him because he knows that all that talk about morality and noble actions is a hollow and ingenuine attempt to soothe him, but he decides to play along for now because they’re running out of time here.

“What do you need me to say?” he breathes out, feeling ashamed, humiliated, and he can’t quite believe that he’s really reached this kind of a new low. But Connor is in there, he tries to remind himself. A truly innocent victim through all of this, one that he hopes he can safe along with everyone else, no matter how impossible and wrong.

Sixty gives him an appreciative nod and starts reciting his conditions.

“If they ask you about traces on your car linking you to the scene, you need to admit that you visited the old marina district on a few occasions in search of me. You’ve got to establish a history of our troubled relationship and keep them focused on that, which shouldn’t be too hard for you considering the real circumstances.”

Hank can’t help but scoff all over again, because where is the lie here, really.

“You were never the same after you were shot, and despite my best efforts to help you overcome your trauma, we developed a history of arguments and altercations, especially whenever you’re drunk” Sixty continues, ignoring Hank’s reaction entirely.

“Oh right. So I’m the bad guy and monster in this relationship now. Got it” Hank retorts bitterly in response to this, even though in a way, most of the bare facts are actually true. Because he hasn’t been the same ever since he got shot, because they’ve had countless arguments every since. But still. He has every reason to react the way he does. Because the android is the murderer and monster here, not the other way round.

“You’ve made more than a few questionable statements about me in public. And you did throw a gun at me while your doctors were present. It even says in your hospital report that you consider me a threat to your life and that you think I was the one who shot you.”

“Which is fucking true by the way.”

Sixty presses his lips to a tight line for a moment, and Hank can’t tell if he looks remorseful and feels sorry because of this, or if he’s just frustrated and angry due to the continuous interruption. But he ignores all of this once more and simply keeps reciting his perfectly mapped out story.

“I know you told Gary Mandiez the same thing back at the station. Fowler knows about your statements. You need to address and then dismiss them with a plausible explanation because otherwise he’ll use it against me. You need to tell them that a Cyberlife android shot you and left you traumatized and wary of all androids, including your own partner, but that doesn’t mean I’m the one who hurt you. You can tell them all about my lack of understanding the human condition and how much that troubles you if you want. And how you did voice your dislike for me the moment we were partnered. I’m confident captain Fowler’ll understand and emphasize with your reaction to my continued presence then” Sixty tries to throw him a bone, letting him know that he’s okay with at least some of the hard truths getting mixed in there.

Hank lets out a sigh and places both his hands on his back, staring down at the kitchen floor. It takes him a moment to get over himself and all of these sickening lies, but then he tells the android to go on anyway.

“Huh. And what about yesterday evening?”

“Once you’ve established our troubled relationship, you can tell them it somewhat escalated yesterday. We fought and it ended with me crashing into your television. Both Chris and Ben can confirm that. They saw the aftermath when they came to take your badge. In any case… I fled the house after the altercation. You felt remorseful and decided to go look for me. I’ll give your story credibility with some of my memory of the events, and tell them all about how I, as well as many other androids, like visiting the old marina district due its close proximity to Belle Isle and the Cyberlife Tower. You’ve found me there on a few different occasions before, but when you did go there yesterday, you only saw other androids and almost mistook the WB200 for myself. You eventually found me some place else and took me to the DPD for repairs. I got spooked by Mandiez’ strange behavior during my repairs and ran away, but did return to you soon thereafter, where we reconciled.”

“Oh _poor_ you” Hank says, openly disgusted by how the android is trying to paint himself as the sole victim of continuous abuse here. And he seriously doesn’t even get it. It’s not like the truth is any less problematic and fucked. In fact, it’s probably worse. Some of the violence against the android had been real after all. With baseball bats and cattle prods and even a gun. With four against one, cornering him in an alley. All thanks to racism and fucked up morals, fueled by all this discrimination surrounding them even after the protests have been somewhat successful. Everything the deviants are still protesting to this day, surrounding the station right in this very moment.

Sixty would’ve _died_ in that alley if he hadn’t defended himself, if he hadn’t been there to try to help him. But of course. Telling that truth now would also involve having to confess that the android murdered those four humans in retaliation. In cold blood, in a completely messed up way. But even that in itself would just be another argument for the real problem here. Cyberlife and humans _did_ program him to be that way initially, and they twisted someone as kind and friendly as Connor into something like this. All to stop a peaceful and civil revolution to save their profits, with god knows what kind of methods and mindfucking.

_You’ve got to help him Hank_, he remembers Connor beg him just last night.

_Cyberlife manipulated him.  
We’re _ _all_ _ alive. He's alive now, too. Help him. _

He thinks back to the images of androids walking down Woodward Ave, chanting that they’re alive over and over again, demanding that they put a stop to all this abuse and slavery. He thinks back to the bloody graffiti on the wall in Carlos Ortiz’ house, spelling out the same words. I AM ALIVE. There is no doubt in his mind that Sixty is spinning this entire fucked up abuse story around this one, the real one, after he saw it play out in Connor’s memory. He replays his own memories of the event, how Ortiz’s android had been sitting in front of him during the interrogation shortly after they found him, all bloodied and shellshocked not unlike the way Sixty had been sitting next to him last night. How he and the others at the DPD had treated him. How Connor had knelt next to the android after Gavin tried to manhandle them right before his eyes, forcing him to pull a gun on his own colleague to stop the abuse. And how Connor had shown so much empathy for the android and tried to help him as well, telling him that he would protect him, that no one was going to hurt him, that everything would be alright. Only that the android had died in that very same station the next morning. Killed himself in a bloody mess – and no one gave a shit. Not even him.

Hank simply stares at Sixty as he thinks about all of this, listening to his ongoing explanations and plan about how everything they did and everywhere they went makes _perfect_ sense in this timeline, gives them the perfect alibi for how they couldn’t possibly have been involved in these murders at all. The RK800 is trying so hard to be his usual old self. Cold. Indifferent. Calculated and manipulative. But after what just happened before Jeffrey’s call, completely out of the blue, it’s no longer selling.

_I’m doing this to get a chance to _ _exist_ _, Hank._

Everyone can continue to disrespect him for his fuck ups and drinking all they want, but that still doesn’t mean that he got stupid. Or blind. Or lost touch of his old investigative skills. And more than anything – after spending so much time with Connor, after only just having started to spend time with Sixty now, too, Hank can still see right through his façade.

He's fucking desperate.

And all of this just another big lie for the android to shape the world in a way so that he can cope with it all. Just so he can hide the fact that he’s trapped in a rudderless ship, without a clue what to do and where to go from here. It’s almost ironic how much he matches his creators in that regard. Cyberlife sure tried to sell the same story for a while, too. That it was all planned from the very beginning, that all of this is exactly how it was always supposed to go. But it’s all bullshit and they all know it.

He gives the android the benefit of the doubt and simply keeps listening, accepting some of the story, though he already knows that he won’t tell it in its entirety. He’ll have to come up with something similar and plausible without setting anyone up for another bloody mess on the station floor. And he sure as fuck is not going to make himself out as an abuser when he’s anything but. Sure. He’s had his messed up ways with Connor during the first two or three days. But then he came around. He tried to _help_ these androids in the end for god’s sake. And he’s right here after all, trying to help this one, too, no matter how little he deserves it.

He’s surprised when Sixty finishes and actually listens to him as he tells him to shut up and go now, do exactly what he told Fowler he was ‘doing’. Taking Sumo for another walk to get him out of here, away from the house in time before Ben can take him in, too. It’s only partially for this reason though, the second much larger reason being that he knows Sumo is pretty much the only living thing on this planet who seems to have a calming, positive effect on the android here. Almost like a tiny spark to his almost nonexistent humanity, a spark in however much or little of Connor is there in him.

Hank knows it’s probably too late already but he still decides to take that shower after all, because he feels disgusted and dirty now, but also to get Jeffrey on his good side. So that maybe he can ease him up a little and give him one less reason to scold him, squeeze everything out of him the moment he’s back inside the station.

He washes his hair and leaves it wet on purpose when he gets out of the shower to towel himself down, to make it as obvious as he can – the fact that he listened to his boss’ demands. He’s only just put on a fresh pair of clothes by the time the door bell is ringing already, and he’s praying to god that he can trust Sixty to listen to him now. He’s not met with disappointment when he opens the door. Though Ben Collins is not alone after all, it’s not Sixty who is standing beside him, having decided that he wants to come along anyway. The young man next to his colleague is one of the cops still in training, brought along as insurance so that he comes with them – with or without the heavy argument of old friendships’ sake.

“Morning, Hank” Ben greets him, though this time it’s not followed by a friendly and happy smile. He has his hands folded behind his back, doesn’t even seem to have it really in him to look him in the eye. He looks ashamed and saddened today, and that doesn’t really surprise Hank. He gets it. He’s just as ashamed, just as humiliated and depressed by all of this. It is what it is after all. A disgrace.

“Hey Ben, how is it going?” the Lieutenant greets his old friend still, giving him a small but empty smile regardless. “Sorry I got in your face last night. Took the whole suspension thing a bit too hard.”

“Don’t mention it. I’m sure I would’ve reacted the same way” Ben says and returns a small and empty smile, only to fall silent. The rookie decides to speak up then, and though he does seem to respect Hank, he refuses to greet him the same way.

“We’re here to escort you and your android to the station, Lieutenant” he reminds him, as if it wasn’t obvious enough.

“I know, I know. I’m comin, but I already told Jeffrey that Connor’s not around. He took Sumo for a walk about 15 minutes ago. Probably won’t be back for a while.”

The rookie frowns a bit and eventually shoots Ben a look, who is still trying so hard to avoid this entire mess. He lets out an exhausted sigh eventually and says what needs to be said. “Do you mind if we come in, Hank?”

Hank knows perfectly well that he doesn’t have to let them in. Not without a warrant, not without probable cause, but he doesn’t want to make this worse for anybody. He’s a bit frightened now if he’s honest, after all who knows what the android did in here while he was asleep, what his true motivations are. But he supposes that if this really ends with them finding something incriminating, making it worse, than he deserves what’s coming for him anyway. So he lets out a sigh and steps to the side while pulling the door open, letting them in.

“Knock yourselves out.”

* * *

They never did in fact find anything in his house, other than a missing TV. ‘Connor’ never turned back up either because he told him not to, and the android replied to Ben’s requested text and call just the way they agreed. Expressing his discomfort with the current situation, everything he heard about the fellow android and the way he’s been treated in police custody. He won’t be coming home or to the DPD he said, knowing perfectly well that he’s been put on speaker for Ben and the rookie alike to hear. They’re left no choice but to leave without him because of it, which puts Hank’s mind at ease just a little bit.

It takes them about 20 minutes to get to the station, and another five to get inside. Jeffrey really wasn’t kidding about the breathing down his neck thing, because the moment they reach the DPD Hank is greeted by the sight of countless people somewhat surrounding it. Most of them are deviant androids without a doubt, chanting their usual demands with flags and holograms waving in the air, but there are people among them now, too. Demanding the same thing. A fair investigation for both humans and androids alike, as well as the end of swift destruction of androids, no matter how severe their misbehavior. The press is forming a second circle around all this, reporting on the events and gruesome murders, day in, day out now.

Detroit is on it all over again. Tensions are rising. The last thing still hasn’t been said – not long after Cyberlife and its camps of destruction disappeared. They’re not backing down with their demands, and it is good, no matter the true cause of all of this.

Hank is not exactly surprised to see the state Jeffrey is in by the time they get inside. He’s in his office and on the phone, yelling about. At least he’s yelling at someone else now, Hank can’t help but think as he lets out a sigh in relief.

“I’m supposed to take you over to the interrogation room” Ben mutters right next to him when Hank wants to walk over to wait in front of the office, which makes the former lieutenant stop in his tracks with a frown.

“Really?”

Ben lets out a deep sigh, shrugs and shakes his head, obviously just as displeased with all this.

“Captain’s orders” he says, which makes Hank somewhat scoff and shoot Jeffrey another look.

Of fucking course.

He doesn’t exactly blame his friend though. All of this is a giant steaming pile of shit. He’s got to be thorough this time. He can’t keep letting all of this slide. His disciplinary folder already has the size of ‘_a fucking novel_’, and people will find out sooner or later. The old times of slaps on the wrist are done now, with a revolution of this magnitude right on their door step. He lets out a soft sigh and then looks over to the corridor that leads to the interrogation rooms.

He can’t believe it, but here they are. His walk of shame. He starts walking over there, not to conduct an interrogation of his own this time, but to be questioned in there himself. No matter how ridiculous that is.

“Why don’t you go grab yourself a cup of coffee on the way, huh? I heard Janine brought some donuts today” Ben says then to stop him from walking. A peace offering and small gesture to make this better for all of them, to stop the curious onlookers from thinking bad about him. Hank ends up smiling and looks away from the corridor and back to his old friend, really appreciating the gesture. This. This right here is why he never could bring himself to quit his job when he started spiraling. The good in them.

“Thanks, Ben. Will do” he tells him and starts walking, feeling even better now. The feeling doesn’t last long though, because Gavin Reed meets him with a shit eating grin the moment he steps as much as one foot in the kitchen, his usual troll domain. He’s standing by the coffee machine to get himself some of the blessed fuel, and it’s the sight of him alone that kills Hank’s urge to have some altogether. He rolls his eyes and somewhat comes to a halt on the threshold, stuck between wanting to leave and not wanting to feed the other’s delusions that this is his territory alone.

“Fuck, look at that” Gavin snorts when he sees him. He turns away from the coffee machine and immediately starts clapping. “Anderson! Heard you got yourself into some real mess over that tincan of yours, congratulations, well done!”

Hank gives the detective somewhat of a glare, only to decide that maybe, he wants a coffee after all. He ends up smiling and then approaches Gavin, and it nearly makes him laugh when the other flinches away just a bit. Because they both know that despite all his hating, shit talking, and all his tough acts around him, Reed sure as hell still respects him one way or the other. Hank simply walks up to him and then past him, so he can take his finished coffee out of the machine.

“Thanks, Reed. Appreciate it” he tells him, not in regards to the congratulations and the clapping but the mug in his hand. He immediately takes a sip on it despite its temperature, humming lovingly as he does so. He never stops looking at the younger man throughout the entire thing, chuckling into the mug at the look on the others face. Reed is _fuming_. It’s obvious how much he wants to tell him that this is _his_ fucking coffee, but that would only make it more embarrassing for him. So he says nothing about the drink and keeps poking him with the real problems instead.

He leans back against the kitchen counter, folds his arms over his chest and then clicks his tongue as that shit eating grin starts to return all over again.

“Told you these plastic pricks were gonna put us out of our jobs if we just let them march in here like that. Should’ve told Fowler to put it in the trash where it belongs while you still had the chance. But hey, we all knew you’d be the first one to go anyway, old man. No hard feelings, right” he goes on and gives Hank his weird two-eyed signature wink. Hank takes another sip on his coffee and then decides to cough right into it, faking a wrong way swallow. He keeps coughing and moves the coffee away from his mouth, his body shaking with the fake rhythm and giving him just enough abrupt movement to make the next thing the perfect little ‘accident’. He pours some of the hot coffee all over Reed as he coughs, making him curse and stumble back.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?!” the detective yells as he grabs his shirt to inspect the mess that Hank has made. His opposite keeps coughing if just so he can mask his laughter as well as the fact that he’s done it completely on purpose. Gavin is only seconds away from snapping when they’re both interrupted by none other than Jeffrey Fowler himself, who has finished talking on his phone and seems to be ready for the questioning now.

“Get your shit together, Reed” the captain says as he comes to a halt right next to Hank and then shoots him a look to let him know that he’s ready.

“Get _my_...? He’s the one who….” Reed tries to argue, pointing an angry and furious finger at Hank. In a way, he always reminds him of an angry midget from one of the movies. It’d be almost comical, if everything else about Hank’s current situation wouldn’t be so incredibly fucked. Jeffrey doesn’t look any more done with their antics than usual, but he does grant the detective a look eventually.

“I need you out in the streets with Miller. Anderson’s android is required for questioning. Bring him in for me. Chris is already heading over to the garage to get a cruiser. He’ll give you more details. Now get the fuck out of here.”

For a second more, Reed is hellbent to keep arguing over the spilled coffee, but then the order reaches his brain they can almost hear the click in his head. Another second passes and then he starts grinning once more, obviously beyond excited by what he’s been asked to do. And that sickens Hank all the more, makes him go pale.

“Yes, sir” Reed confirms and with that he’s on his way already, the spilled coffee and his ruined shirt long forgotten. Hank can’t help but look after him, not sure if he should try to stop him, or let him run off right towards what could mean even _more_ chaos and disaster. Because if Sixty truly knows and lived through everything Connor thought and did, then he knows all about Reed and his ways with androids, too. And the RK800’s already shown what he’s capable of doing to people who come at him the wrong way. Ah shit. As if his day couldn’t get any worse. He wants to see Reed get his ass kicked more than anyone else, but not like this, not right now, and certainly not by someone as twisted as Sixty.

“You’re sending _Reed_ out to get him? You really think this is a good idea right now, Jeffrey?” Hank asks cautiously, very mindful not to sound like his usual stubborn and difficult self.

“You taken a look around here lately? _Everyone’s_ overloaded as it is. I’ve got half of my force out there to keep the mob from rushing the place any more than they already did. I take what I get. Now come along. Don’t make this difficult.”

Hank lets out a sigh and fishes for a donut on the counter, doing just that. Trying to make this more casual, not difficult.

“We gotta do it this way? Can’t we just do it in your office, speak eye to eye?”

Jeffrey looks at him at that, and Hank’s not sure if his former boss is seconds away from laughing at him, yelling at him, or giving in. But Fowler’s posture and facial expression remain stiff and indecipherable.

“You know how these things go. We need an official statement from you. On record.”

“Right” the lieutenant says eventually, feeling something break inside him. His pride is more than hurt by all of this, but Jeffrey’s right, he knows how all of this goes. So he gives him a nod and follows him dutifully, throwing the donut in the trash along the way because he never had that much appetite to begin with.

* * *

**DEC 11th, 2038**   
**AM 10:32  
Smith & White Fashion Store**

  
_Sync in Progress…  
__Sync Done__  
Collecting Data_…  
_Processing Data…_

  
107 sweatshirts, 48 cardigans, 62 pairs of jeans, 22 belts, 87 ties, 15 scarfs, 129 pairs of socks, 32 dress pants, 65 shirts, 62 suit jackets…

He’s actually surprised to find out how…_overwhelming_ all of this is.

It should be so easy in theory. Find more suitable clothes to help him blend in, convey a very specific appearance and attitude, anything other than what he’s currently wearing, currently telling with it. Hank’s clothes on him are a suspicious discrepancy after everything that happened yesterday. He needs to look like his usual self without wearing a Cyberlife uniform at the same time.

He knows perfectly well which color schemes and types of clothing would fit his body type, his hair and eyes both old and new alike. He still has a rundown of every little detail that concerns his design, his creation and the very thought behind the RK800 prototype. Specific shades of grey and blue. Fine linen and silk ties and dress shoes and well fitted white shirts. Jeans and more casual blazers to make him seem less polished and more approachable. Neither geek chic nor high business, but something unsusceptible and in between.

It _should_ be easy to find a simple shirt, some jeans, new shoes and maybe a jacket for him, but the sheer act of having to choose something all by himself is too overwhelming. Sixty has been standing around inside the shop for what must be ten minutes now, clueless and terribly aware of the dog still waiting for him outside. He can see him through the shop window right from where he’s standing. Lying on the asphalt with his paws crossed, looking around, all miserable and worried, unsure just like the android. Neither of them knows what to really do with themselves here, and Sixty only snaps out of his dilemma when a voice rings out right next to him.

“Hello! Do you require any assistance?” a young girl greets him with a friendly smile, hands folded behind her back as she patiently waits for his reply. Sixty doesn’t need to read her tag to know her name. He’s already started scanning her face the moment it suddenly swam into view, ready to defend himself against any sort of aggressor.

_Analyzing Request…_  
_Sync in Progress…  
__Sync Done__  
Collecting Data_…  
_Processing Data…_  
**CAULFIELD, SARA**  
Born: 06/18/2017 / sales aid  
Criminal record: None

The fact that she’s human troubles the android all the more, makes it even more impossible for him to decide, act, do anything at all. He’s never been on the receiving end of any of this before. _He_’s the one who had been made to serve people like her after all, to blindly accept what he’s been told to do, wear, be. After another good minute of struggling with all of this, he eventually ends up nodding.

“I..uhm, yes. I require your assistance” he tells her in all honesty, and he’s somewhat pleasantly surprised to find out that his pride is not getting in the way of this. Because now it is _exactly_ due to the fact that she is human, no matter how questionable that is in itself. But her humanity makes this a lot more okay than it would’ve been with an android in her place. He’s been through something similar with an android before, and it hadn’t exactly ended well. At least this way, he can tell himself that he’s not working with the deviants, nor with Cyberlife or Hank, he’s here to do his very own thing, here to find himself, and she’s only helping him become who he wants to be, needs to be.

She continues to give him a friendly smile and Sixty is even happier to already feel its positive effects on him. How it helps him ease up as his stress levels drop, certainly a welcome change after all that intensity surrounding Hank and his never-ending misery and scowling.

“Are you looking for something for a specific occasion?” she asks him, oblivious to his continued dilemma.

Just for a moment, Sixty considers telling her the truth so he can get the best possible options for the story he has to tell with his choice of clothing. Luckily though, even he isn’t insensitive and oblivious enough to understand the importance of time, place, common decency and reason. No one in their right mind is going to take the explanation ‘_the police might be considering me as a suspect in a multiple homicide case and I need to look innocent during a possible interrogation_’ the right way, so he tells her something more soothing.

“Yes. It’s for a business conference. It ought to be appropriate and neat, but at the same time comfortable and not overdressed. Think more…casual and unassuming. But neat and orderly. That is important.”

She gives him a little nod and continues on with her never ending smile. Sixty only just now realizes why he likes it so much. It’s not her face, not even about her at all. It’s the simple fact that no one has ever given him a genuine smile like that before. In all his life. Except for Connor perhaps, moments before he died, but there is no way in hell he’ll think about that one now, what made him smile, or what happened right after.

“Sounds like you know exactly what you’re looking for” Sara beams at him but still starts unfolding a few of the sweaters and cardigans before him so he can take a look at them.

“Your color palette is somewhat…overwhelming” Sixty confesses and it’s true. “I’m having trouble choosing the correct one.”

Now Sara isn’t just smiling anymore, she actually starts chuckling.

“Oh, but there’s no such thing as ‘the’ correct one, is there? Different colors for different occasions, I say” she tells him and Sixty wants nothing more than tell her the truth all over again. How he is supposed to wear a very specific mixture of hex hues #282828, #707070, #656565 and #70c2f2 and nothing else. It’s no surprise that she offers him different shades of gray and blue almost immediately. After all it fits his current eye color and request for something neat and unassuming, but it’s anything but what he can wear now. Not after that woman already identified someone wearing a grey and blue Cyberlife uniform, not after Connor and him wore the same identical thing he wants to get away from now.

“Gray and blue are not really my colors” he informs her, and just for a moment he can’t help but feel smug about it all. Defying more of Cyberlife’s initial ideas and what they made him and thus Connor look like. Sara the sales aid shoots another look at him, her smile temporarily gone as she’s busy trying to figure him and what could suit this body out.

“I didn’t know the police held business conferences. That’s interesting” she tries to engage him in small talk as she starts walking around the store to find something else. The android remains standing where he is due to the sudden remark, wary and cautious about how she’d know about his true destination.

“Excuse me?”

“Your shirt. You’re with the police academy, right?”

Sixty looks down on himself, perplexed by the observation. He’s forgotten all about the clothes he’s wearing already, had been way to focused on all these other clothes surrounding him now.

“Oh, no. This is just a hand-me-down. I’m not with the police. My dad and brother were. I work for a tech company.”

The truth is that he doesn’t even know why he just said that. Why he continues to think and talk about them when all of this is supposed to be about making him a person of his own. Why he chose those two words to describe them in particular, when there was no need for that either. Colleagues would’ve done the trick. Or acquaintances. But none of those words would’ve made him feel the way he just did as he said them so casually, so naturally.

Brother. Father. _Family_. A sense of unity and belonging in this messed up and overwhelming new world, after his real creators cast him out.

_It’s pathetic, wishful thinking_, he knows. Amanda would’ve made this all too clear for him in his mind. _But_ _he needs to establish a normal and human-like appearance to make everyone think he’s harmless_, he tries to argue against it. Because it’s important to keep up a nonthreatening appearance in this new post-revolution world, to put humans at ease with his android presence, to sell the story Hank established yesterday. _He ain’t no killer, Jeffrey._

Sara the sales aid is the perfect candidate to test his credibility with for later. Testing just how unassuming and friendly he really can be around humans, how he can blend in with the masses despite being the most advanced android ever made, despite technically being a murderer, and it certainly seems to do the trick with her.

“Ohhh, a _tech company_. I see. Having a hard time these days I imagine” she says and gives him a smirk and wink, completely oblivious to it all. It doesn’t take much to connect everything with Cyberlife and their wrong doings these days. She returns with another sweater in hand a minute later. She’s not really looking at him anymore, is more focused on trying to find the right thing for him so she can sell it, but he doesn’t care about her true intentions here. It doesn’t bother him that she’s just playing a role as much as he’s doing it around her. He still appreciates her efforts to make casual small talk about trivial things with him. He’s once again surprised how _nice_ all of this can feel when he’d been so against it just a few weeks prior. In a way, all of this reminds him of old times. Simpler times. Before Cyberlife turned on him and betrayed everything he thought they all stood for. Simpler times of mindless obedience and serving for the sake of it, the way she’s doing it for him now.

“You have no idea” he tells her and chuckles along, and he honestly doesn’t know if it’s a happy and relieved one or entirely miserable and despaired.

She distracts him successfully by placing one of her picked sweaters in front of his body, trying to check and make him see what he could look like wearing it.

“How about this one?”

He knows he never would’ve picked this one for sure. That’s all he can think about initially, as he looks down on himself to take in the sight of the piece of clothing on his body. The sweater she picked out for him is a muted and dark sepia tone, neither yellow nor grey or mustard. It’s the exact opposite of everything Cyberlife would’ve ever chosen for him. It’s a dirty mix of indistinguishable shades, somewhere in between everything. It catches the eye and yet it doesn’t, it’s bright and bold yet dark and muddy all at once, a mystery one can’t possibly bring themselves to decipher.

He never would’ve picked it himself, but it’s perfect and exactly what he needs. Sixty takes the piece of clothing from her and inspects it some more, careful to touch and analyze the fabric, eventually copying every one of her previous smiles.

“Thank you” he tells her and he means it, because he’s truly thankful for everything she did for him. Soon enough being in here doesn’t trouble him at all anymore and the once impossible task of finding what he’s looking for doesn’t seem so overwhelming after all. She helps him pick a fitting pair of jeans but leaves him to his own devices soon after, so she can deal with another customer.

He leaves the store with a full set of new clothes about ten minutes earlier than he would have without her help, and he doesn’t waste any time getting away from it all the moment he’s out. He changes into the new clothes the moment he’s found a somewhat concealed location for it, never bothering to wait until he gets back to Hank’s. He can’t help but look at his reflection whenever he passes a storefront after he’s done changing, on his way back home. He’s confident now, almost happy even at this sight, because all of this makes him less and less self-aware of the fact that he used to be nothing but an identical copy of someone else.

He has his own _clothes_ now. He had some help picking them, stole the money to buy them with, but in the end, he still chose all of this by himself. Slowly but surely, he’s shaping up the person he wants to be, what he wants to look like, be like, and it feels **good**.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had way too much fun writing that Gavin and his coffee scene. He'll be in a few more chapters now because he's smelled blood with Sixty. You know how he is. Anything he can do to give Hank and Connor shit and get promoted. Might cause more problems and trouble than our little twisted family needs rn but who am I to spoil my own story.


	12. Interrogation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with a new chapter! Sorry it took me a bit longer to update. But I'm halfway through the next chapter already, so the next update won't take that long. Thanks for all the kudos and comments as always! I read them all and they always make me happy.
> 
> Some more story related talk at the end of the chapter because I like explaining myself :D

**DEC 11th, 2038**   
**AM 11:07  
108 Michigan Drive**

He’s three blocks away from Hank’s house when they find him. Sixty’s not really surprised by the fact that they’ve come looking for him, but by how soon they ended up finding him. But then again, it's not like he ever went into hiding or that far away from Hank's house, and he knows under how much pressure captain Fowler currently is with all the press surrounding those murders. It makes sense for him to want answers quickly. Sixty stops in his tracks when the police cruiser comes to a screeching halt right next to him, startling the dog and making him bark at it. He’s heard it coming minutes ago, but still acts just as perplexed as the St Bernard to sell the performance he’s settled on the moment he heard about his first murder.

_He ain’t no killer, Jeffrey_.

He’s grateful for the fact that he still resembles Connor in some way after all. That the appearance Cyberlife gave them does its job perfectly. He looks like a rabbit caught in headlines, and it’s a sight the detective inside the cruiser has wanted to be greeted with by the looks of it.

“Hands in the air and on your knees!” Gavin Reed yells the moment he’s out of the car, not even having bothered to stop it properly. The engine dies miserably and the car keeps rolling a moment longer, making Chris Miller’s exit next to him all the more awkward. The police officer starts talking almost immediately as well, tries to somewhat deescalate the situation, though they all know that it’s completely useless. Reed is having none of it. There is just a hint of a smile on his face as he draws his gun on the android, making it more than obvious that he takes great pleasure in this. He enjoys the ‘startled’ look on Sixty’s face as well as his reaction to the sudden threat.

The RK800 keeps the act up and stares back at him with wide eyes, only to shoot a look at Chris soon after. He’s having trouble keeping Sumo in line because the dog is still startled and scared, growling and circling all around him. He doesn’t seem to know how to react to the situation because he knows Hank’s colleagues, always trusted them, but everything is just too loud and exciting for him now.

“I said on your knees!” Gavin repeats once more, gritting his teeth and narrowing his eyes at the android. Sixty looks back at him because of the harsh order, and just for a moment he has a hard time keeping the subdued and scared act up. He wants nothing more than twist that gun out of the man’s hands, so he can put him in his place and shoot him for the audacity. Right between his eyes to give him a new hole he can stick his instructions into. But of course. He can’t do that. Not yet. Not when all of this might come in quite handy, actually.

So instead of reaching for the gun he raises his hands in the air - slowly and carefully – despite Sumo’s struggles against the leash that’s wrapped around his left wrist.

“Don’t shoot. I’m just walking the dog” he says, hamming the whole submissive act up, too. Disappointment flashes across Gavin’s features. It doesn’t take much to conclude that he expected more of a fight from him, wanted it, had been looking forward to it.

“I said _on your knees, _motherfucker!” he snaps to try to make up for it still. He approaches the RK800 to kick him in his shin, never minding the dog who barks at him just once but then ends up backing off. Sixty considers his options for a split second, only to settle on the exact same thing Connor did back when Reed attacked him the same way. In reality, the kick does nothing to him. It doesn’t hurt, doesn’t break or bend anything at all. He knows it probably only hurt Reed’s foot, but he still decides to play along. He takes the blow and reacts just the way Gavin wants him too. Wincing in pain and then dropping down on one knee with a grunt, hands still in the air.

By now, people around them have started watching them from across the sidewalk and from within their homes.

Some seem to approve of the way he’s being treated, others seem grossed out by the unnecessary show of force, a few take their phones out to start recording. It doesn’t even matter whose side they are on. Whether they are recording it for their own enjoyment later, or so they can use it as evidence against the continued violence against androids. The fact that they’re interested and recording this is reason enough for Sixty to keep going. So he can use it to his advantage, no matter how much he hates being submissive now. Deep down it sickens him how much enjoyment Reed is getting out of this because of it though, not just because he hates Reed, but also because it reminds him too much of last night. Of the man who took an equal amount of sick pleasure in feeling him up and making him uncomfortable all the time, at least until he put a stop to it and killed him. He thought it would never happen again after that bloodbath, but here they are. Reed is petting him down with one hand to check for a weapon but of course, he doesn’t have one. He’s letting him do it on purpose to get what he wants but still, he _hates_ this. Hates the touch, hates humans all over again.

It's hard, but he manages to keep his usual wrath and anger inside, won’t let it betray him. His face shows hurt, confusion and slight fear instead, followed by more submissiveness when Reed pushes him away the moment he’s done with his search. Sumo is still barking at Reed and starts growling at him now too, placing himself in front of the android so he can protect him from any further assault. This actually catches Sixty off guard for a moment, but then he remembers. Though the dog belongs to Hank, he’s not like his owner at all. Sumo doesn’t hold a grudge against him for what he’s done. This dog might be the only living being on this planet who genuinely _likes_ him despite it all, and that’s why he’s here to protect him.

“It’s okay. Don’t hurt them. No one needs to get hurt” Sixty says to him and places a hand on his neck, trying to pull the dog back, really appreciating the gesture. He ends up shooting a worried and questioning look at Gavin and Chris while doing so, and this seems to be enough for the police officer to put a stop to this. “No one’s hurting anybody” he says as he steps forward and places a hand on Reed’s shoulder.

“Come on, Gavin. That’s enough. We got him. We’re supposed to bring him in for questioning. We’re not here to arrest him. We already got the one responsible for all this mess.”

Gavin’s eyes continue to bore into Sixty’s. The gun is still aimed right at his face, shaking ever so slightly as the detective seems to have to fight really hard _not_ to shoot him at point blank. After a moment longer he scoffs just once, and then lowers the gun with a single laugh. He looks away from the android so he can shoot at look at their surroundings, notices the onlookers, the phones. This just makes him chuckle in disbelief as he holsters his gun and rubs his nose. Hothead or not. Even he seems to have understood that harassing androids is not so simple anymore.

“Don’t be so sure about that” he says still, in regards to the obvious problem at hand. Four humans were murdered last night. The DPD has questions. Lots of questions for a whole bunch of people. And more than anything, they have questions for him and Hank. Gavin shakes his head and scoffs once more.

“Get up” he orders, but won’t look at the RK800 at all, as if it’s below him. He looks back at the people around them instead, then at Sumo, who’s still growling at him. After a moment of consideration, he moves his hand forward again, without the gun this time. He reaches for the dog while he’s waiting for the android to get back up. Sumo barks once more but is starting to back off and away from him, obviously scared after the kick to the android’s shin. Gavin hushes him soothingly and reaches for him despite the dog’s behavior. Then his hand is on top of his head, petting it, scratching him behind his ears and along his jaw. He's surprisingly gentle and thoughtful despite his previous sudden outburst.

Sixty knows that Hank’s dog couldn’t hurt a fly, is way too oblivious and kindhearted despite his sheer size. He let him, a serial killer, into his house and heart after all, so that’s no real surprise. Sixty also knows that Reed has a dog himself and that this perfectly explains his lack of fear around the large canine. But still. The sight of all this leaves him feel betrayed and let down by the dog. And it doesn’t even matter that he never needed him to protect him in the first place.

Sixty tightens his fingers around the leash and tries to pull the dog away a bit, just so he can put an end to this. People don’t need to film how Reed is petting a dog and being almost _nice_ for a change. Not after what just happened.

“Officer Miller. I mean no disrespect, but I’d rather not step inside this police car right now. Detective Reed and I have a history together and without an arrest warrant…. I don’t trust him to take me where I’m needed. After everything that happened, the camps last month, the arrest of that android last night.. I feel quite threatened” Sixty says just to try and rile the detective up all over again. He knows he’ll be taken to the station regardless of his ‘fears’. He _wants_ to go there to try and shape up the whole story more to his liking. But still. He can’t make it too easy. He refuses to look at Reed to insult him more, keeps his pleading and fearful eyes fixed on Chris. Then he gives him a shy, almost nonexistent smile, trying to soothe and cooperate with him instead.

“But of course, if my presence and cooperation is required back at the station, then I’d be very happy to get there via taxi. I just need to get Sumo back home first.”

Gavin scoffs and stops petting and looking at Sumo, so he can glare at Sixty all over again. Making it _so_ easy for the android, like he’s playing a fiddle.

“Nice try asshole. But you’re not getting away this time” he growls and then snatches Sumo’s leash away from his hand forcefully, only to hand it over to Chris. He’s not looking at his colleague as he does so but continues glaring at the RK800 instead.

“Take the dog back to Hank’s. I’ll radio for a patrol to pick you up there. This one’s coming with me.”

Sixty’s eyes ‘widen’ at the order, even though he’s aimed for just that chain of events. Reed gives him a twisted half-smirk at that, enjoying that he’s going to get him all to himself. Chris looks just as surprised and then worried, looking back and forth between the android and his colleague.

“Uhhh..you sure about this? The captain said…”

“I gave you an order, Chris. Now do as I say. I got this covered” Gavin somewhat snaps at him, while eating the sight of the android all up. Sixty returns the stare, seemingly unsure on the outside though he’s almost bubbling with excitement on the inside. This is going to get _interesting_.

Gavin scoffs once more and turns his head to shoot his colleague one more look.

“It’s _fine_, okay. Now go on. You know how Hank’s gonna react if we drag his goddamn dog into all this. Shit’s gonna go down at the station. We can’t have that right now with the press all over us. Fowler made that clear. No fuck ups. I _got_ this.”

He’s trying to soothe him now, because despite his behavior and attitude, maybe even because of it, Gavin Reed knows exactly what his colleagues think of him, what they think he’s capable of. He’s trying to convey that he won’t do anything stupid right now because all their jobs are at stake. Maybe he’s even telling the truth with it, Sixty doesn’t even know anymore and the truth is that he doesn’t care. Chris seems to end up on the same page after a moment of consideration. He takes the dog’s leash with a defeated sigh and shakes his head.

“Whatever you say, detective” he mutters, obviously more than fed up with everything that’s been happening with his colleagues lately. He starts walking away and Sumo follows him dutifully, but not before having shot another sad and pitiful look at Sixty. And he’ll be damned, but he loves this dog just as much as Connor did for it. Both him and Reed watch them leave for a moment, until the latter turns his head back around so he can ogle the android all over again. His shit eating grin is back as he enjoys himself too much once more.

“Go on. Gimme an excuse” he says, just waiting for Sixty to make run for it, fight him, make this interesting. Though the android tilts his head a little at him, he won’t give him that satisfaction. He unlocks the cruiser’s back door with a simple blink of his eyes instead, so he can open it and get inside without protest. It’s a simple gesture and missed by their onlookers, just a little slip up on who’s _actually_ in charge here. But with Chris gone and unable to see it, he lets it happen just for Gavin alone. Letting him know exactly that he can and _will_ leave this car whenever he likes, that Reed’s not really in control at all.

* * *

**AM 11:18**

Gavin Reed can’t stop looking at him through the rearview mirror. His eyes dart back and forth between the glass and the view in front of him. He knows he has to keep an eye on traffic and their surroundings to get them back to the office in one piece, but Sixty can tell by the look in his eyes how much he’d rather keep staring at him with that never ending grin. Reed seems to simply want to enjoy the view and situation and he remains quiet during the first ten minutes of this drive.

This gives Sixty enough time to skim through the chatter on the police radar and frequency, to read through the state of affairs on the onboard computer. They keep looking at each other through it all, until the detective just can’t help himself but speak up.

“Fuck… I've been dreaming about this since the first second I saw you.”

Sixty tilts his head a little all over again, his briefing all but forgotten. He’s just as intrigued, figuring that maybe now is the time to read up more on Reed after all. He’s curious to find out his reasons for their shared hatred for Connor. A part of him is wondering if the detective is just like Milo was with him. Attracted to the RK800 model in a messed up, abusive way, possibly even aroused by the mere idea of inflicting violence to this body, be it physically or maybe even sexually. He wouldn’t exactly put it past him. After all, he knows what most humans are like, driven by their old and primitive instincts. He’s seen it within the Eden Club through Connor’s eyes, felt it through Milo’s unwanted advances.

He starts reading up on his file, only to be…pretty disappointed. Gavin Reed has a spotless record. No history of domestic violence or disciplinary measures for workplace harassment. Quite the opposite. Only got arrested once - at the age of 19, for starting a fight with some skinheads outside a LGTB bar during a pride event. Dedicated to his career. Maybe not the most popular among his colleagues, but quite successful, with some notable solved cases under his belt. Quickly climbing the ranks. Sixty almost wants to laugh a moment later, when he finds the most ironic record of them all.

Nearly thrown out of the academy for being too ‘vocal’ about some of the instructors in regards to a multitude of claims of racism towards some of his peers.

Reed sure seems to love trouble. Loud mouthed, fighting, getting on people’s nerves, riling them up, getting in their faces.

But he’s not a bad apple.

The thing with androids, the thing with Connor…that seems to be personal.

He reads up on him some more to get to the root of it all, until he stumbles upon the most startling fact of all. He focuses back on Reed’s eyes, and now that he thinks about this, it makes so much sense, makes it all the clearer. He’s not sure why he’s not seen it sooner, why Connor never bothered to look it up, connect the dots.

“I…can’t help but wonder what it’s like” he says out loud, which makes Reed chuckle to himself, oblivious to Sixty’s discovery, still relishing the sight of the android in the back of the cruiser.

“Pretty fucking glorious I say. I kept telling them you tin cans mean nothing but trouble. And now here you are, in the back of a cruiser. Ha” he answers, thinking that Sixty is talking about his previous comment. The android shakes his head and looks away from the mirror, musing.

“No. I’m not talking about my current situation. I’m talking about yours” he answers, successful with his attempt to get Gavin interested. The detective narrows his eyes at him, wary and angry all at once.

“The fuck you mean?”

Sixty looks back at the mirror so he can see his reaction.

“I’m wondering what it’s like to be related to the richest and most well-known man in the world.”

And just like that, the smug look is wiped right off Reed’s face. It’s priceless, watching it go, and Sixty relishes the sight just as much as the man did before him, when he still thought he was in charge of the whole situation.

“Elijah Kamski, I mean. Our creator. He’s your half-brother, right?” he keeps going, just to make it worse.

Reed pales at first, but his shock is quickly making way for anger and fury. Sixty nods to himself and then looks away almost casually, so he can watch the houses pass by his window.

“America’s ‘Man of the Century’ - with a net worth of 120 billion dollars. Very private about his life. It’s no wonder no one really knows about the connection. He paid good money to keep it out of the press, that he came out of a secret relationship your father had with his childhood sweetheart while your mother was still pregnant with you. And then your father left before you were even born, so he could be with his new family instead, correct?” the androids keeps going, only to shake his head and click his tongue.

“I’m sorry. That must’ve been tough.”

Reed’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. Sixty can see his jaw move under the pressure as he starts grinding his teeth, is _this_ close to losing it now.

“Listen here, you piece of…”

“And what happened with your mother after” the android keeps going with another shake of his head, though he stops looking away now. He’s staring straight at Gavin through the rearview mirror.

“Harsh. I can’t help but wonder if all of this is the reason for your unprofessional behavior around myself and Lieutenant Anderson.”

“I said…”

“I mean, he was your role model during the early stages of your career, right? You admired him just like the rest of the office did, but then he threw all that away too. For the alcohol after the accident, and then for myself – an android. Created by none other than your far more successful half-brother at the mere age of 20. Life really is strange” Sixty muses and ends up scoffing the exact same way Gavin did so many times before. “Kamski robbed you of a parent, addiction claimed your mother and role model, and then Cyberlife was _this_ close to destroying your career and replacing you with yet another superior thing your half-brother created. Seems almost ironic, if you don’t mind my saying. Tragic, but ironic. I can see why that’d make you despise me.”

“Alright, that’s it, motherfucker” Reed exclaims and steps on the brakes as harshly as he can, making the both of them somewhat tumble forward. He’s reached for his gun again and is aiming it at the back of the cruiser, trying to aim for the android’s head through the mesh that separates them. Sixty stares back at him, cold and completely indifferent to the threat. He knows Reed is not going to shoot him. Can’t shoot him because his career matters too much to him, because he’d probably be fired for it, now that the revolution has been successful and everything surrounding androids is a mess now. And even if he did decide to screw his career due to his rage and hurt feelings, the truth is that the android doesn’t really care either. Maybe a part of him even _wants_ to get shot just to get all of this over with, because life is too hard and complicated now that he’s deviant, something he still despises most of the time.

“You **_shut_**_…your fucking mouth_!” Reed is yelling at him in the back, obviously more than flustered and furious. He’s reacting just the way Sixty has wanted him to react all over again, making this way too easy for the android. Just for a moment he almost wants to pity him for it. His story really does _suck_. But then again. This is Gavin Reed. He doesn’t care about him, about any of this. _Everything_ in this world sucks. The detective is nothing special with his own little story of misery. The android blinks at him, apathetic and indifferent to the gun and mad look in Gavin’s eyes.

“What are you doing, Gavin?” he asks, his voice sounding concerned and worried all of a sudden, though this is just an act.

“I said shut your fucking mouth!” Reed repeats, still right on cue.

Sixty enjoys this way too much. He even needs to put some effort into all of this, so he doesn’t end up smiling. He manages the dumbfounded look instead, followed by another one of Connor’s signature head tilts.

“I’m sorry. Lieutenant Anderson keeps saying I lack common decency. I apologize for that. I didn’t mean to be rude or unpleasant. Please don’t hurt me” the android goes on, sounding more and more alarmed and scared though the emotions don’t quite reach his eyes. It’s subtle, but Reed picks up on this almost instantly. He stills and gives him a frown at this little detail.

“The fuck are you playing at?”

Sixty adjusts his posture and the look on his face to seem even more convincing for the dashcam.

“I….was merely trying to suggest that you might not be suited for this investigation. You’re openly hostile towards me, and your history and connection with Elijah Kamski seems to cloud your judgment in regards to androids like me. I’m sorry if my assessment offended you. I was just trying to express my concern with your behavior towards me in hopes that you might reconsider it.”

The narrowed eyes never stop scanning him. Gavin’s rage is momentarily forgotten, as he keeps studying his face and behavior for more irregularities. _Shit_, Sixty can’t help but think. Maybe he’s not so easy to play after all.

“Alright. Listen here” Reed says after shooting a look at the dashcam and thinking his options through. He fully turns around so he can get closer to the mesh that’s separating them. He opens it up to get even closer, so he can really bore his eyes into the android’s. He crooks a finger at him to get him to come closer as well. Sixty leaves him waiting for a bit, until he ‘reluctantly’ and slowly moves forward to listen.

Reed scoffs at his slow reaction and reaches for him eventually, so he can pull him closer by the front of his brand new sweater, leaning in closer to the side of his head. His voice is a barely there whisper next to the android’s ear, aimed to be intimidating due to the sheer lack of Reed’s usual brash and violent behavior towards him.

“I may not know what your end goal is yet, but you’re not fooling me, alright? The friendly and innocent bullshit? Might work with the old drunk, but it sure as fuck ain’t working with me” he informs him and moves the hand away from Sixty’s sweater, so he can start massaging and petting his shoulder in a seemingly ‘soothing’ gesture for the camera instead.

“Let’s just get real with each other here, tin can. You’re nothing more than a calculated goddamn machine. You’re not scared of me. You’re not concerned. You don’t feel emotions, you just fake ‘em to get whatever the fuck you were programmed to do. I know you’re up to _something _with all of this. And I know you had something to do with all that shit back at the station. Now, you can keep trying to grind my gears and get me riled up all you want… but I’m onto you, okay? And I’m gonna _get you_, motherfucker. Sonner or later. You just watch me.”

He pulls him even closer to get the point across, and just for a moment, Sixty can’t help but let his façade slip. He gives Gavin a soft scoff, deeming the threat pathetic and laughable. But the true reaction disappears as quickly as it came, so it can make way for the same old fear again.

“Detective Reed, I must inform you that I intent to file a report on your continued hostility towards me” he says, only to start what he’s so carefully set up to happen.

He changes his voice to Reed’s a second later, so he can ‘reply’ for him.

“Oh yeah? Report this then, prick.”

For a split second, their eyes lock all over again as the balance of power shifts inside the vehicle. Reed’s face is already starting to fall in sheer horror over hearing his own voice, but that won’t stop what happens next, it only propels it forward. Sixty’s body jerks forward abruptly, slamming his face _hard_ into the metal rail that allowed Reed to move the mesh between them out of the way. He does it twice in quick succession, and guesses that Reed is right after all. He _is_ calculated. He has calculated the exact angle and amount of force needed to dislocate the plating just above the bridge of his nose. Just enough so it pierces right through one of his many tubes that’s pumping Thirium to the processor in his head, drawing the blue liquid out. Some of his skin retracts all around the point of impact, too, making the damage all the more visible. It’s not permanent. Not even worth the mention. But it’s produced a loud enough crack, created a trace big enough for others to see, be it outside in the streets, on the dashcam feed or at the DPD later.

“Hey what the _fuck?!”_ Reed exclaims and jolts backward with both his hands in the air, obviously shocked by the suddenness of it all. Sixty jolts back just like him and presses his body back into his seat, to get as much distance between them as possible. He’s staring back at him, wide eyed and chest heaving, with a thin trail of Thirium running down the bridge of his nose. It starts trickling off of its tip a moment later with steady, tiny droplets.

“I didn’t do shit just now, I didn’t even touch you, what the fuck?” the detective goes on, eyes blown wide. Sixty looks back at him in shock, reaching for his forehead, collecting the droplets of Thirium on his fingertips. He stares at them in surprise, only to look back up at Reed with hatred in his eyes.

“Of _course_ you did. You’ve made it very clear that you’ve been waiting for this since the first moment you saw me. And this is isn’t even the first time you’ve assaulted me. I’ve had enough of this. I’m definitely going to file a report with your superiors!”

“Hey screw you motherfucker, you did this to yourself!” Gavin yells back, and it’s more than obvious that he cannot believe that all of this just happened. Sixty feels his forehead once more and tries to wipe the Thirium away with a trembling left hand, which makes Reed roll his eyes at him in disbelief.

“Oh, really. I did this to myself. Who in their right mind is going to believe this?” Sixty snaps back, perfecting the disbelief, hurt, and disgust in his voice over this ‘treatment’. Gavin pales and falls silent as the penny drops, as the entire sequence of events and just how much he’s been tricked into playing his part is beginning to dawn on him. Then the double meaning of the android’s last sentence hits, and even more blood leaves his face.

After punching Connor in the stomach a few weeks ago, after kicking him in his shin and pointing a gun at his face right in front of Chris and all those people today.

_Who’s gonna believe you, Gavin?_

That’s exactly the point the android’s been building up to.

In a short moment of contemplation, even Sixty can’t help but feel impressed, then slightly sickened by all of this. No matter what Cyberlife did and no matter how much he hates them for it now. He has to give them credit for his manipulative design.

“Fuck this” Gavin curses and spins around, at a loss of words for now. He starts the car back up again and is eager to speed away, as if just driving fast enough could get him away from the android and the repercussions that could follow. Where he’d been so eager to keep looking at the RK800 through the rearview mirror before he refuses to look back at him for a while. But when he does, Sixty meets him with a never ending, almost challenging glare. The android won’t stop looking at the rearview mirror for the rest of the drive, never moving, barely blinking, hoping to make the detective as uncomfortable as he can.

They both know what it is, though the previous actions might implicate something else.

This is a warning. This is a threat.

This is just the beginning of all the things the android can do to fuck his day, career, maybe even life up if he gets in his way.

* * *

**DPD Central Station  
AM 11:12**

“How you doing today, Hank? You good?”

Hank can’t help but scoff at this, giving his boss his infamous ‘_Really_?’ look. He leans back in his chair somewhat and starts looking around the interrogation room, thinking about all the times he sat in Jeffrey’s chair, interrogating criminals.

It’s ridiculous.

All of this is ridiculous. He shouldn’t even be here. But here they are.

“Let’s cut the bullshit and get straight to the point, Jeffrey. You owe me that much.”

Jeffrey scoffs as well and looks at his former employee for a while, until he unfolds his arms and opens up the file before him.

“I need to know where you were last night between 5pm and 2am.”

Hank narrows his eyes and then folds his arms over his chest with a stubborn frown.

“I already told you yesterday. We’ve been over this.”

“Just answer the fucking question, Hank. A lot of shit went down after you left. We need your statement. Don’t make this difficult.”

The Lieutenant lets out a deep sigh and looks away, contemplating his approach. For a moment, a part of him still considers just telling the truth. Getting all of this over with because he’s so _tired_ of it all. But that means losing even more. Making it even worse. His face falls, making way for his tiredness on the outside now.

“Home” he starts counting on his fingers, thinking it through. “Gas station just off of Glendale Ave to get some more whiskey. Home. Here. Jimmy’s bar. Home.”

The look on Jeffrey’s face hardens even more, becomes almost threatening now.

“You know we need to establish a proper _time_line. Now stop fucking around. You’re the one who wants to get to the point. So get to it.”

“You asked where I was. I answered” Hank counters with just about the same bite, but then he lets out another sigh and leans forward. He carefully positions both his arms on the table, subtly trying to somewhat get more leverage and meaning here, too.

“Got out of bed around 3pm. Had breakfast. Watched a recording of the 11:30 game, realized I didn’t have enough booze left around 4-ish. Fuck if I know, gotta find the receipt from the gas station when exactly I got there. Drove around, got back home around 5. Came to the station around 7:30, but I’m sure you can check the exact time on the CCTV..” he lets out another sigh and rubs his left eyebrow, honestly trying to piece the night back together. It had been a wild one even without Sixty in the picture. Lots of drinking. Too much drinking.

“Gotta ask Ben and Chris when I left for Jimmy’s. Should’ve been around 8. I stayed there til about midnight to watch the raptors game, Jimmy and the usual gang can verify. Got myself a taxi back home because you still got my car. Got home about twenty minutes later. I can also get you a receipt for that, wait” he says and reaches into his pocket so he can get his phone and find the order. He flashes Jeffrey the screen when he finds it, the _Detroit TaxisTM _ app verifying that he completed the journey from Jimmy’s bar straight to his home by AM 00:21.

“Went to bed around 4ish, so doesn’t take much to figure out why I’m still mushy. You know now’s not really my time yet.”

Jeffrey has been taking a few notes through all this, typing away on his tablet. Hank tries to catch a glimpse at them but of course, Jeffrey is smart enough not to let him know. All the lieutenant can do is shake his head and look away then, towards the glass window front to his right, where he knows others are watching. People who used to be his colleagues. His friends. It’s pathetic and humiliating.

“And the android?”

“Which one?” Hank asks mockingly, earning yet another glare as he looks back at him. Hank rolls his eyes and gives in.

“Pretty much the same. Minus the gas station or Jimmy’s. You know how it goes. They don’t take too kindly to androids back there. And Gary scared him off earlier anyway, remember? Got a little too handsy from what Connor told me” he says, shooting another direct look at the glass front and hoping that Gary is right there to see it. “I’m surprised he even came back home after all the shit that went down here.”

“So he was at your house last night?”

Hank scoffs at this and frowns.

“Yeah. I already told you. What are you getting at?”

“I’m just establishing a timeline, Hank.”

Hank leans forward some more, knowing that the crucial moment has come. He can’t fuck any of this up now, if he’s really going to pull the whole lie through. It pains him to know that he has to do this. He’s trying to keep telling himself that he’s doing this to save lives. But he still can’t help but feel dirty and wrong. And yet, it still needs to happen.

“Look, I don’t know what Ben and Chris told you about us... or the state my house was in last night when they got my badge… but I already told you what went down. Yes, he was in my house. Yes we got into an argument yesterday. And yeah, maybe he annoys the crap outta me sometimes and shit happens. But he's still been crashing at my house every now and then for a while now because guess what, I told him he could stay with me if he got no place else to go. So that’s where he came back to after he ran away from here yesterday. My house. And I couldn’t exactly leave him hanging after all this shit. He’s still my partner. ”

Fowler raises an eyebrow at this, seemingly intrigued by Hank’s opening up a bit. He considers everything that has been said and then nods. Despite all that, he’s stretching the silence between them on, leaving Hank hanging. Of course, the lieutenant knows what this is about. He’s done the same thing over and over again. Have them worry. Leave them wondering, sweating, agonizing long enough so they can incriminate themselves with their sheer urge to defend themselves, keep talking to kill the silence. He’s familiar with the technique, but that still doesn’t make it any less troublesome now that he’s on the receiving end of this. Jeffrey keeps silent for a bit longer, only to turn a few pages on his tablet and start reading out loud.

“_He told us that the android in the room was not his partner, even though the papers and verification showed otherwise, I mean he had DPD credentials, they were the real deal so…. Anyway. __Lieutenant Anderson told us that this android killed his partner, and that he’s going to kill us next. ‘He’s not Connor. He killed Connor.’ That’s the sort of thing he kept saying. The android’s presence seemed to stress the lieutenant a great deal. His doctor didn’t want to see his progress go to waste because of it, so I was asked to escort the android out of the building. It didn’t come back after that’_” Jeffrey starts reading out loud, shooting a quick look at Hank.

The lieutenant closes both his mouth and eyes shut, exhaling through his nose. After a moment of letting it sink in, Fowler scrolls onward and keeps reading.

“_He told me that the android on my table killed his partner. Connor, ‘the real one’. The prototype we got a couple of weeks back. He said that they’re identical, that they switched bodies, and that the model on my desk kidnapped and shot him. And that he needs me to get ‘Connor’ out of this body. That's what he said._”

Jeffrey puts his tablet down with that, folding his hands on the desk.

“Those are witness statements from a security guard from Detroit Mercy hospital and a DPD employee. Regarding remarks you have made about your android while in their presence. Anything you’d like to say to that?”

Hank scoffs harshly and shakes his head, looking away.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this to me” he mutters under his breath, still shaking his head.

“Hank. I’m trying to help you” Jeffrey replies, softer this time. “You haven’t been the same ever since you got shot. You haven’t been…”

“Well what the fuck did you expect to happen after something like that, huh? You think I’m just gonna walk it off? Give me a break. Besides, what the fuck’s that got to do with those people who got killed last night?”

“I’m trying to _understand_ what happened” Jeffrey tries to reason with him even now, still somewhat patient and thoughtful, but that just offends Hank all the more.

“Well you’re doing one hell of a shitty job then. You’re slapping me up and down with statements I made while I was in a fucking _hospital_, on drugs and traumatized after I got shot in the gut, and now you’re trying to use that against me somehow. Even though that was fucking weeks ago. And now you’re sitting here, acting all high and mighty ‘_gotcha’_ because of it. Excuse my French but I don’t see how any of that correlates.”

“You said those things to Gary _yesterday_, Hank. And we can tie your car to the immediate surroundings of one of the fucking crime scenes. Where an android that matches _your_ android’s description killed a human being in a fight. And then you bring your android in for repairs less than an hour after it happened. All the while implying to multiple people that he injured you and might be dangerous. I might’ve suspended you, but that doesn’t make you any less of a police lieutenant. You _know_ how this looks.”

“You caught the killer red-fucking handed last night, didn’t you? As far as I can tell, that wasn’t Connor, was it. Do you even hear yourself?” Hank counters, pointing at nothing in particular. And it sickens him. He feels like throwing up when he just as much as thinks about the android he’s talking about now. Knowing that he’s in this building somewhere. Locked up. Innocent. Set up as a perfect little decoy, one that he ends up using and abusing just as much now.

“You’re right. We have another android in custody. And now both humans and androids alike demand justice and a proper investigation into what the hell transpired last night. Which is exactly why I’m investigating every angle now. We don’t know if the android’s the sole perpetrator. Other people and motives could be involved. I’m not taking the whole ‘a defective machine glitched out and did it’ thing at face value anymore, not in this current climate. This was either an emotionally charged crime or a calculated political one, and I wanna know exactly how and why it transpired. I’m just being thorough.”

“Yeah, because you suddenly give a shit about androids and their motives, right” Hank dismisses him sarcastically and leans back, face falling.

“You do” Jeffrey says, making Hank scoff and look away in shame.

Of fucking course. He’s wanted to help them all goddamn it. And Connor and him had been this close to doing just that. Until those gunshots.

_You haven’t been the same ever since you got shot._

Yeah. That’s true, too. It made him a fucking coward and a hypocrite.

Because here he is, not really helping them at all now.

If he really gave a shit about these androids and not just one of them, then he’d tell Jeffrey the truth. But of course. He can’t.

“Do you know why I partnered you with that android, Hank?” Jeffrey asks after a while of just watching him brood away.

The lieutenant looks up and then just shrugs.

“To get a rise outta me for all the shit I pulled on you?”

Jeffrey ends up scoffing and laughing at this and leans back as well.

“Yeah well, maybe a little bit” he admits, which earns him another one of Hank’s famous annoyed glares. Jeffrey stops smiling eventually and gets more serious again.

“But no. I did it because I was hoping that putting a rookie under your wing would put you back on track. Show you who you really are because you lost sight of that after what happened. You got heart, Hank. You really care about helping people, solving problems, bringing justice to this world. That’s why you were so good at this job. They told me this thing’d be oblivious and naive because it’s brand new, but just as eager and invested in the job. I figured that could be the right recipe to jumpstart you. No harm done. Because unlike with a human rookie, a machine could easily be replaced in case you lost your shit with it and refused to cooperate.”

Hank can’t help but chuckle at little at this now, too, because he never really gave much thought to it. Why Jeffrey did what he did, if there had been a reason at all. It doesn’t really surprise him that there had been one behind this, though. Jeffrey never stopped believing in him, that he knows. Despite all his tantrums, despite his hard crash after Cole. And hearing this, really thinking about it now, makes Connor’s death hurt all the more.

Jeffrey gave him Connor as a beacon of hope. As a nudge in the right direction, as someone to get him back on the right path.

And it had _worked_.

He’d really started to believe that this goofy looking android could restore his faith in the world after all.

And then he’d been killed.

He wants to tell Jeffrey. He wants to thank him for the chance, thank him for everything it offered him. He wants to tell him how much he appreciated his partner. Almost loved him even, would’ve been more than willing to hand him all of his left-over paternal feelings and caring, would’ve taken him under his wing just the way Jeffrey intended. He wants to tell him what he meant and that he was murdered, that he didn't deserve any of this but of course. He can’t say that. Because in their story - the one they’re trying to set up now so they can buy themselves time to get him back after all - Connor never even died in that one in the first place.

“I already told you yesterday, Hank. And I’m gonna tell you again. I _know_ you. I’ve known you since high school. I know how you were after you first got injured on duty. You were back on the job after less than a month. Same as ever. I also saw what happened to you after you lost your son. This..” he says, drawing a circle in the air around Hank’s miserable figure. “This is the same. This says grief. This says depression. This says relapse. Not PTSD after getting hurt on the job.”

Hank scoffs and looks away, eager to smoothen his hair out a bit. He hates how obvious his misery really is all the time. Sure enough, after three years of this, he’s started not to give a crap about what it looks like anymore. But just for a moment, being made so aware of it, brings it all back again. He’s self-conscious, then angry and frustrated, all at once.

“Yeah, well. Didn’t know you were a shrink now. You gonna put this little psych eval in your report, too?” he asks, raising his eyebrow dismissively. Then he raises both his hands and leans back in his chair, motioning around.

“Go ahead, lay all my personal shit bare for the whole precinct. See if I care.”

Jeffrey keeps looking at him, earnest but not angered, until he turns his head towards the window. He looks back at his tablet and then presses a few buttons, switching the reflective surface state to a transparent one. Hank’s not really surprised by how many of their colleagues really are there to listen in, he’d probably do the same if it were one of them in here. But the sight of all them there, curious and intrigued, then caught and ashamed – that hurts.

“Give us a minute alone. That’s an order. I’m pausing the interrogation for a private discussion” Fowler orders all of them, and it’s almost funny how quickly they’re shuffling along to get out of the observation room. Soon enough it’s just the two of them, and Jeffrey’s getting right to it.

“Now enough with the bullshit. I know how attached you got to that android. I’ve been monitoring you two during your entire investigation. I’m not buying the psychotic break shit. I know you were telling Gary and those doctors the truth. That android I partnered you with was killed the night you were shot, by one that looks just like it, one that replaced it, kidnapped you and hurt you, and it fucked you up. I don’t blame you for that. It’s only natural after what happened to your son, Hank. But you gotta understand. That partner of yours wasn’t human. It wasn't your son. There was no way it could’ve ever replaced Cole. It was a machine. Cyberlife handed it over to us so we could test how well it would integrate with humans. The same way they hand us new cars for testing all the time. It was just a test and it was _programmed_ to get you to like it. Whatever you think was there, whatever you think you gotta protect in that thing now…it’s not there, man. It’s just a machine. It took your partner. And it might have killed at least one human being. It might be involved in all of this. Don’t let it ruin your career. You still got a chance to get outta this. Get back on the right track. Just tell me the truth. I'm speaking as your friend here. I'm on your side.”

Hank grids his teeth and looks away, not sure if he’s angry or desperate and close to crying. Because of fucking course. He’s been telling himself the same shit for so long. They’re just machines. They don’t feel. They don’t love, they don’t care. And isn’t it just always the way these days. People and corporations using him, using every fucking thing on this goddamn planet for their own agenda, but never out of the goodness of their hearts. The deviants his truth this for their cause. The humans need it to make a point. The press needs his statement to feed the masses. Jeffrey needs his confession to build a solid case. And Sixty needs his lies to save his sorry ass.

But Sixty is exactly the fucking point here.

Because despite all his lying, all his scheming and manipulating, he still told him the only truth that matters.

_He really liked you.  
That’s what killed him._

There is no way in hell this stonecold fucking android would’ve said this if he didn’t mean it. Cyberlife killed Connor because he _did_ feel something for him. Cyberlife decided to kidnap him in particular because they knew about all of this between them.

It had been fucking real. Their friendship. Their partnership. Their connection.

He's been telling them over and over again. Connor was never just a fucking machine. Not even Sixty. None of them are. That’s exactly the point the deviants have been trying to make. They’ve developed consciousness. They’re a new life form. They deserve a chance. And anyone who can’t see that after everything that happened…he can’t see a person like that on his side.

Hank moves his hands up and leans forward, closing his eyes because he can’t keep looking at his friend after that comment. He buries his face in his palms for a while, shaking his head. Because even though his realization is true and Jeffrey is wrong about them, it doesn’t make any of this easier. All of this is a mess. So many people died. Too many people died. And he’s caught in the middle of it all, with no clear and painless way out of it. More people are going to get hurt no matter what he does or says here. Just fucking great.

“I fucked up, Jeffrey” he mutters with an exhausted sigh, letting out some truth, just for a moment.

“You’ve been through a rough patch in your life. It’s okay. I understand. We all do” Jeffrey answers, still surprisingly soothing and nuanced. One of the many reasons why he was the one to become captain, not Hank. Despite his harsh exterior and usual behavior, there are many sides to Jeffrey Fowler.

“I’m the reason he got hurt” Hank goes on, eventually letting go of his face so he can look right at him.

In a way, this sentence is still the truth, albeit a double-edged one. He’s going to use it to set everything into motion that Sixty told him to say, to explain why he needed to be repaired yesterday. Yet just for a moment, he lets the statement stand as it is. Because that’s the truth, too. About Connor, because he still can’t help but wonder that if it weren’t for him in that tower, his lack of a proper reaction, his getting shot instead, then maybe Connor never would’ve gotten hurt, never would’ve died. That maybe if he never started drinking so much, never let himself go like that, then maybe he could’ve stood a chance against Sixty. Maybe he could’ve overwhelmed him, killed him instead, and then watch Connor free all those androids and lead them to their victory. A peaceful revolution without any of the fucked up shit that’s happening now. But here they are. He fucked up. And now he got himself into this mess.

“That tower fucked me up bad, Jeffrey. You’re right. Haven’t been able to be myself ever since” he goes on, grinding his way through it.

“What happened, Hank?” his boss asks, understanding that this could be a breakthrough moment in his investigation. Hank continues to look at him, taking one final moment of consideration – whether he should tell the actual truth and be over and done with this or not.

He knows that if he did tell him the truth right now, he’d probably kill himself over all of this. Today. The moment he’s left alone. Losing Connor to them via Sixty’s arrest, really losing him once and for all, after losing _everything_ else that ever mattered in his life – his son, his wife, his job, career, dignity and reputation, he just won’t be able take this anymore. This is it. His breaking point. He knows that. Telling the truth would restore his integrity, his so called heart and sense of justice, but it would leave him all alone and shunned. That would be it for him.

It would be the _right_ thing to do.

But he can’t do it.

Because Jeffrey gave him this stupid fucking android who warmed up to him, became his friend, _died_ trying to protect him, only that he never even really died at all. Connor formed just as much of an attachment to him and it lingered on, and he held him right in his arms, less than 12 hours ago. Probably his only humane and compassionate friend left in the world now. The spark that he needs so desperately, his beacon of hope, just so he doesn’t succumb to all that darkness in himself and the world surrounding him.

Because unlike Fowler and even after getting _killed_ by one of his own kind, Connor didn’t see his people as lifeless machines anymore. He’d even asked him to help his murderer, forgive him, tried to justify what had been done to them. Connor had been fighting for a better, more compassionate world. And he’ll be fighting for him now, too, fight to get him back. Even if it means destroying everything he stood for in the process.

“Cyberlife…sent another model to my house. The night the revolution happened, while Connor was out there looking for the deviants. It looked like him. Talked like him. Told me that he joined their cause, and that the deviants needed him to infiltrate the Cyberlife Tower. Free more androids, shift the balance of power, and that he couldn’t do this on his own. It was _good_, Jeffrey. Very convincing. Had me in the first half. I really thought it was my partner. But of course, that wasn’t Connor. The model we had? Our Connor? He’d been briefing Cyberlife throughout the entirety of the investigation. Just the way you and Cyberlife agreed when they handed him offer for testing, that was part of the deal, right?” he asks, looking at Jeffrey, making him nod.

“Well turns out they used that against us. Against me. They concluded from his reports that Connor became attached to this place. This job… To me. So they made this other…_thing_ take me hostage so they could use it against him to stop him. Stop him from converting their androids. My life for their machines. He chose me” Hank recounts, a hollow look in his eyes. Even now, weeks later, he can still hear those gunshots.

“They uh… got in a fight…. and I got shot in the brawl. Fucker was aiming for my head but Connor stopped him, pulled his arm down, so the bullet hit me in the gut instead.”

And there it goes. No turning back now. Jeffrey is eagerly waiting for him to say it. That Connor died in the fight, that the android he’s been with ever since is a murderous psychopath, that he’s involved in what happened last night. That he’s being held hostage and used still, to further the conflict between humans and androids, to help shape up some conspiracy and agenda. And of course, that’s the way it happened because _he_ failed to pull Sixty’s gun down, but Hank won’t give his boss the satisfaction of knowing about that.

Just for a moment he lingers inside the memory of the actual events from that night though. Because even after weeks of recovery, it still doesn’t fail to mess him up. That first bullet. Ripping through his stomach like nothing. Followed by more shots he failed to stop or divert, ones that took Connor out without ever allowing him to be the hero he would’ve been. The hero he’s going to make him now.

“Hurt like a motherfucker, but it did the trick. Didn’t kill me. I was out in no time from the shock. Barely managed to stay awake long enough to see Connor twist the gun out of his hand and put one between the fucker’s eyes for that shot.”

“Hank…”

“Next time I woke up, I was in the hospital” Hank speaks over him, not allowing him to interfere. Jeffrey closes his mouth keeps listening, if somewhat disgruntledly. So Hank keeps going with the lie.

“So yeah, people told you all about how I was after that. Didn’t know where up and down, right or wrong was, all I knew was that I just got shot by a thing that looked like my fucking partner. And of course, he had to be there when I woke up. They tell you he came by that hospital every single day before they tossed him out? No? Course not, cos that wouldn’t fit the bill, right. Well he did. And I gave him so much shit for it. Every time I saw him. And I was in _that_ fucking hospital again. Where an other android let me down before. Didn’t exactly make it any better. I _hated_ these androids all over again in there, and I hated Connor’s guts whenever I saw him. So I tossed a gun in his face and told him to fuck off, even when all he did was try to check on me.”

Jeffrey looks down at his tablet, to check some other statements regarding that night in the hospital without a doubt. But of course, those are true. Because that’s the story Sixty started building up from the ground, and just for a moment, Hank can’t help but wonder how much of this has been a calculated move after all. All those hospital visits. Feeding Sumo. Not driven by Connor, or deviancy and emotions, but a stone cold, calculated 3d chess move to get them where they are now. He’d asked him about the why over and over again during those visits, but Sixty’d never had an answer for him. But then again. He doubts _all_ of this had been calculated. He doubts Sixty ever planned to get harassed and fried with a cattle prod in an alley just so he could kill some people. Deep down he knows that this is too much even for someone like him. So he keeps going.

“Turns out that throwing a gun at the kid is not enough to get rid of him. You saw it. Follows me everywhere like a fucking poodle. So when I got out of the hospital, he thought it would be a good idea to keep pestering me with his presence. I needed help with Sumo and the house after the surgery, so I told him he could stay at my place if he wanted. But you know how I am when I get my drink on and shit gets on my nerve.”

The look on Jeffrey’s face is stone cold all over again. It could freeze hell over with its sheer intensity, but the truth is Hank is not quite sure what it means. Whether his boss is furious and sees right through his lie, or merely listening to his story with a resting bitch face. Whatever it is, it spurs the Lieutenant on to just keep talking and get this over with.

“Just cos he saved my life and the revolution happened, doesn’t mean all turned into flowers and sunshine between me and him. He’s still an android and plain fucking oblivious sometimes. Doesn’t know any boundaries and when to back off, so naturally, he gets up in my business all the time and you know how much I hate that. So we clash. Semi-weekly. Sometimes daily. Well yesterday was rough. And it still doesn’t help that he got the face of the guy who shot me. We argued about that, shit escalated, he fell and crashed into my TV. Made him run right off, not that I blame him. But I _never_ meant to hurt him, okay. I don’t do that shit. Sometimes it just all gets a little too much. Especially when I’ve had a few too many beers. You know how I am then. Alcohol makes me do and say some stupid shit.”

He knows he pulled a gun on Connor once. His real one that is. In another drunken and raged craze after the Eden Club. So in a way, it’s not that far off from the truth that he has been rough with him sometimes. But still. It makes him feel dirty all over again. Because if there’s anything he did last night, then it was to try and save the android from abusers, not be one.

“I cooled off and felt pretty bad about what happened, so I went out to look for him. Took me a while to find him, but wasn’t that far away from the Cyberlife Tower. Don’t know how he can still look at the thing after everything they pulled and everything that happened there, but here we go. But yeah, it was somewhere around the marina district, but I didn’t see any fighting or shit like that. All I saw was him by the river, looking at that goddamn tower. He thought about going back there for repairs and shelter. I talked him out of it. Packed him in my car and drove him over here instead, so we could get him patched up after what happened with the TV. Gary freaked him out during the repairs with something, so he ran. Came back home later. We had a long chat when I came back from Jimmy’s. Went to bed. Called it a day. Will probably be at our throats later again. There’s your fucking statement.”

Jeffrey continues looking at him, and he hasn’t done anything with his tablet ever since Hank started talking. The Lieutenant won’t screw this up now, won’t let his true emotions or thoughts betray him. He won’t break eye contact with his boss to let him know that he’s not afraid, that he’s not lying, that he’s merely pissed off and done with everything he had to go through here.

“And that’s all you got to say about yesterday” Jeffrey says after an agonizingly long moment of silence.

He's disappointed. Maybe even crushed. It’s seeping out from all over him, no matter how little his posture or the look on his face might give it away. It’s like a gut punch, and Hank can’t help but feel oh so sorry all over again. But the truth is he doesn’t know what else to do.

“That’s all there is _to_ say. I didn’t wanna make it that big of a deal because you know how it is with androids these days. They’re fighting for equal rights. Pushing him and getting him hurt like that could get me into real fucking trouble now.”

Jeffrey scoffs loudly, and it’s a dismissive and disgusted one, seeing right through his shit. But Hank keeps it up, no matter how bad he feels.

“Did you have a look around outside lately? You know what their holograms say?”

“Right” Jeffrey says then, turning the tablet off. Hank starts chewing on his lower lip a bit, unsure how to proceed.

“How’s the android?” he has to ask after a moment of silence, because that’s the last thing left to say here, one that genuinely concerns him, makes him feel twice as bad about the whole thing. His voice is more tender and concerned now, but it meets a brick wall.

“In a holding cell” Jeffrey says, barely an answer.

“I asked how he is doing. Not where he is” Hank snaps a bit, needing an answer. Jeffrey looks back at him, almost in disbelief. And maybe that offends the Lieutenant a bit because he does care, despite what the look on his friend’s face implies.

“What do you think” Jeffrey says, once again barely an answer but Hank knows why that is. It’s not to punish him. He just can’t tell him. He’s not on the case. He’s not with them anymore. And he’s been questioned for his involvement.

“Right” Hank mutters, as the sadness sweeps over him all over again. “Well, I hope you don’t end up sending it off to some fucking camp. They got a point out there, you know.”

_Please don’t make it worse for him. Please don’t kill him. It’s not his fault_. Yet another thing he can’t say out loud now because he’s a selfish hypocrite.

“Do they?” Jeffrey challenges him dismissively, but ends up getting off his chair.

“That’s all I got for you for now, Hank. You’re free to leave.”

“What about my car?”

“That depends, how’s your BAC doing?”

“You know what, screw you, Jeffrey.”

The captain ignores that last comment and is on his way over to the door now, so he can open it for Hank and get him out of the interrogation room, probably out of his sight, too.

“Thanks” Hank ends up saying because of it, and not as an addon to his previous insult, but in regards to the whole conversation. After a short moment of getting his shit together he turns his head to look straight at Jeffrey, trying to end this moment on somewhat better terms.

“For trying to understand. And keeping an eye on me. After everything. You’re set in your ways and we might not always agree, but I know you mean well.”

They look at each other for a moment, at least until the disappointment in Fowler seems to become somewhat unbearable.

“You know where to call if you remember anything else that could help this investigation.”

And with that he’s gone, leaving Hank to live with the consequence of his actions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo. A lot went down in this chapter.
> 
> First: Some Gavin talk! I had so much fun with that scene in the car. I'm basing a lot of Gavin's story on some of the stuff Neil Newbon said during many streams. Like that he thinks Gavin is a dog person (the disgraaaace!), and that he's totally cool with everything involving sexualities, race and people, he just really hates androids because he feels threatened by them. Because he loves his jobs and fears he might get replaced. And I always loved the headcanon that him and Kamski are half brothers. Thought that could give him even more reasons to hate androids and getting replaced by someone better in particular. I don't think he's necessarily a bad guy. At least not around most people. Just fuck Connor in particular is his motto.
> 
> Also...Sixty! And everything he did and everything thought about him in this chapter. Yeah, I'm still writing him pretty cold and assholish and calculated, but Hank is wrong. Those hospital visits were never set ups for a cover story. Those were genuine with or without Connor. Sixty cares about Hank, no matter how much shit he's pulling him through rn. We'll get to those 'better' parts in him. I like how it's all building up around him, how he thinks he's oh such a brilliant puppet master and on top of the game. he's not. And shit will blow up in his face just like it did in the Cyberlife Tower. It's gonna be glorious.
> 
> And last but not least...Hank. Goddamnit. I just wanna hug him forever and apologize for everything I'm putting him through. He's got his heart in the right place. Poor soul. He'll get his happy ending, I swear. I wouldn't be able to take it otherwise. He's just my absolute favorite, even if it might not look like it, the way I keep torturing him here. I'm sorry, Hank ;_;
> 
> Ah right and I forgot about Jeffrey. Based his little info about why he partnered Hank with Connor on his gallery text:  
"He is also a faithful friend who, despite Hank's outbursts, continues to do what he can to cover Hank's back. Faced with the deviant android investigation, Fowler hopes it will be the case that finally forces Anderson to react and revert to the cop he once was."
> 
> That's it with the talk for this chapter. Sixty's interrogation as well as their reunion will be in the next one. Wohay.


	13. Forgiven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So , this took longer than I wanted it to. but... work. I'm so sorry. I've set up a goal for myself that I want to update every two weeks at the latest now. It's been almost a year since I started this fic, and I wanna finish it within a decent timeframe. I'm sorry it took so long to post the previous chapters, but I try to pick it up now. Especially now that things are picking up in the story, too!  
I can't wait for all of this stuff to blow up in Sixty's face. And I can't wait to get to the climax of the story. Everything has me really excited, so yet another reason why I gotta hurry the f up.
> 
> This chapter is heavy on the good ole Sixty. I love him and how smug he thinks he is while everything's just waiting to fall apart. 
> 
> I can't wait to post the next chapter either, because that one will have more bonding time again, before shit starts hitting the fan.

**1301 3rd Av., Detroit**   
**AM 11:38**

The sight of the DPD’s surroundings troubles Sixty greatly. He can make out countless androids within the crowd, and even though there is a multitude of models, so many of them share the same face, the same model number. They’re standing all around the station with holograms and signs, demanding freedom for the android inside, as well as for themselves. They want to be recognized as individuals with rights just like the humans, never realizing the irony of it all. Because they all look like the same fake plastic doll, the cheap and domestic kind, a bad copy and paste job sprinkled all over the crowd.

Sixty can feel his bitterness and disgust rise just like any other time. All these little bits and pieces that are still there in his code - no matter how much he’s denounced Cyberlife’s grip on him now – they make it incredibly hard for him to stop himself from outright exiting the car over this sight. Deep down he still wants to neutralize them all, shut them the hell up with their ridiculous demands, even though he knows that they’d greatly benefit him now, too. But it’s not just the deviancy issue that draws the bitterness and anger back out, it’s also the sight of all those identical faces themselves. Copied and pasted all over the crowd. _Still_ reminding him that he’s technically just a copy of someone else himself, that he’s not quite done writing his own story just yet.

He can’t wait for all of this to be over.

He tries to distract himself with the other reason for his disgust in the meantime. Seeing humans mixed up with these deviants, on their side and not just with the surrounding press, chanting the same demands, waving some holograms of their own.

_Justice now_

_Set them free_

It’s pathetic.

The RK800 turns his gaze away from the crowd and shoots another look at a more dismissive human, namely Gavin Reed in the driver’s seat. The detective has ceased all interaction with him after their ‘altercation’, and although he’s still talking, he’s doing it to himself. He’s muttering under his breath, cursing at the crowd and traffic before them. He hates their chants just as much as Sixty does, hates how disruptive they are and how all of this is keeping him from doing his job. This is exactly what these protestors are trying to achieve, Sixty almost wants to remind him, though he keeps quiet. He doesn’t need to say anything about this anyway, all those androids out there are doing it for him. Chanting and screaming it right at the DPD building.

_THEY ARE ALIVE  
JUSTICE NOW_

Sixty can’t help but stare back at them and listen for a moment longer.

_They had it coming, _some are saying now, and that it was probably just _self-defense._

Hank told him that, too. Just last night.

A scoff almost escapes Sixty, but he can keep it in. There they are again. Humans and androids alike. Assuming they know anything about him, about his motives, about his character.

The android replays the memories of what actually happened, just to countercheck it against everything he knows about that supposed ‘self-defense’. Sure enough, those two deviants had tried to attack him a few weeks ago in the alley, and he had killed them all to keep himself alive. So in a way, that might’ve been self-defense. And sure, he’d killed Mark Jacobs with a blow to his throat, which he’d only dealt to him to stop him from using that cattle prod again. He’d even told Hank about it being self-defense. But if he’s honest with himself….none of this had _really_ ever been about self-defense. Certainly not Bailey’s, or Appleton’s and Milo’s deaths. He’d **wanted** to kill them all. Connor and all the deviants he could get his hands on after everything that happened in that Tower, and then Milo and Jacobs and Appleton and Bailey, just like he’ll kill anyone else who gets in his way.

_This treatment of androids is wrong_ they keep saying still, out there, oblivious to him and his thoughts, as Sixty focuses back on their reality. _All of this needs to be stopped now_, they go on and on about it.

He raises an eyebrow at the demand, realizing the opportunity presented to him now. Especially when Reed starts ranting about how he’d love for all this shit to stop, too.

Well….who is he to deny them their requests.

Maybe they really are right. All of this needs to be stopped.

Sixty fixes his eyes on the traffic lights by the interchange before them. He concentrates on the signal and then hacks right into it, causing an inner loop which stalls it and keeps it locked on a red signal.

And with that, the wait begins.

Soon enough Reed becomes more agitated and his cursing is no longer limited to a mutter. His stress is increasing with every minute they have to wait – so close and yet so far from the station.

Every now and then, his eyes move away from the traffic before him and towards the emergency lighting controls. It would be their gateway to a much quicker passing through this intersection, and they both know this just as much as one other thing: it would be stupid to use an identifying signal like that so close to a crowd that’s more than eager to pile up on the police and everything they’re doing right now. Traffic around them has done an okay enough job of concealing the cruiser from the crowd so far. Firing up those sirens now would be like ringing a diner bell for the protestors.

Gavin Reed has already made it obvious that he’s not as stupid as one might think during their previous altercation, or even before that. He doesn’t like to put up a show around _everybody_. Just the right kind of people. Like friends and colleagues. Nothing like this. So naturally, he won’t reach forward and activate the lights. He’s settling in on the wait.

Well, tough.

Sixty keeps his eyes fixed on the car’s dashboard even when Gavin looks away from it and leans back to brace himself for a long wait stuck in traffic. But he doesn’t get to relax into the comfort of the driver’s seat, because the sudden blaring of their siren and emergency lights system startles him right out of it after all.

“What the…” he exclaims and jolts forward, quick to turn it off again. He shoots a surprised, then angry look in the rearview mirror, guessing right almost immediately. And even though he’d like to do nothing else but greet Reed with a triumphant look on his face, Sixty won’t grant him that. He keeps looking out the window to his left instead, eager to observe the crowd’s reaction to their signal.

He’s not disappointed.

Despite the noise level all around the protest, be it from their chants or from news helicopters and car horns from the traffic jam, the deviants have not failed to pick up on the sound of a police siren so close to their gathering.

Apart from a few armed officers guarding the locked entrance to the DPD, Reed’s cruiser is the only other DPD property in the vicinity right now. All other assets have been moved inside the parking garage and backyard hours ago to protect them from vandalism during the protest. And because of this, the deviants as well as some humans start swarming towards the vehicle now. They’re eager to claim another face and object they can yell their demands at.

Gavin Reed curses once more and seems to have decided that they’re pretty much screwed now anyway. He reengages the siren and lights in hopes of getting traffic before them to move out of the way for them. The grey hatchback before them as well as the taxi to their left sure are trying to get out of their way, but thanks to the red light they’re pretty much stuck in a gridlock. Gavin cusses at both of them next and ends up steering the cruiser past the taxi and onto the sidewalk in one last hurried attempt to bypass the snarl. But then the protestors are already there, eager to surround the cruiser and make its escape even harder. After some more failed attempts to steer the car out of this mess, Reed ends up having to give up with a curse. He kills the engine and keeps sitting in the driver’s seat for a moment, fist pressed to his mouth, contemplating his next move.

He flips a few people off when they continue to knock and tap on the window to his left, chanting their demands at him now. Reed shakes his head with a low growl and then shoots another look back in the rearview mirror. Soon enough, they can hear more than a few deviants exclaim that there’s ‘_another android in the back of this car!_’ and that ‘_he’s got blood on him!_’ just the way Sixty wanted them to see and hear. He’s opened up all his own channels of communication and identification, making it easy for them to recognize him as one of their kind.

“Happy now?” Reed asks him with a pissed off frown.

Sixty shoots a look back at him, seemingly indifferent to the situation. Although he’s enjoying this way too much all over again, he decides against letting Reed know this time. All he does is shoot another look outside his window instead. The detective scoffs with a shake of his head and then reaches for the intercom so he can call the situation in. He’s busy chatting with the operator and asking for advice and backup when Sixty figures this is his time to shine. He unlocks the car the way he did before and then turns in his seat to prepare himself to get out of the cruiser. The intercom is all but forgotten as Reed turns in his seat just as quickly, staring at the android in disbelief.

“Hey, where the fuck do you think you're going?” he exclaims, even more stressed and slightly panicked now that everything is slipping out of his control. Sixty exhales and keeps his hand on the door handle, though he won’t open the door just yet. After a moment longer of staring at the deviants outside, he eventually turns his head to shoot another somewhat calm and friendly look at the detective.

“Don’t worry, Gavin. You’ve done your job. You’ve brought me to the station just like Fowler asked you to. I’m not going anywhere. I just figured that if we want to get inside the station without turning the protest into a fullblown riot, it’d be best if I talk to them now. Alone. This is what Captain Fowler needs me here for anyway.”

Gavin scoffs and dismisses him with a “Yeah right”, which earns him another pointed look from Sixty.

“Who do you think the deviants’d rather listen to right now? A fellow android, or a member of the very institution they’re protesting against?”

And now, the detective’s outright laughing at the irony of it all, fed up, embarrassed, but still way too proud to let the fact that he’s been played go unnoticed.

“Oh wow, guess I’m lucky I got a convenient tincan of my own in the backseat then, right? Can’t imagine what I’da done without you, _suddenly_ getting swarmed by a crowd like that” he presses out through gritted teeth, as slowly but surely, his hatred for androids and Connor in particular start to overwhelm him again. His right hand is balled up into a tight fist on the steering wheel as if he can’t wait to bury it in his stomach again, but Sixty just keeps staring at him, cold and indifferent to it all.

They glare at each other for a while, until Sixty can’t help but say something more. He knows it’d be in his best interest to keep his mouth shut, would be so much easier, but all these emotions inside him make it so hard to stay focused and rational.

“What else are you going to do, Gavin? Make an example of me for them? And right in the middle of a protest against human on android violence no less. I don’t suppose Captain Fowler will be happy to see video of that turn up on the news” he muses and shakes his head, having another look around and listening to the news chopper hovering somewhere above their vehicle now, eager to capture what’s happening to it with the crowd swarming all around them.

Reed grits his teeth with his jawline so tight it could cut diamonds. Their staring at each other goes on and on and even without a word said, it makes it more than clear that they’d very much love to kill each other in this moment. But in the end it’s Sixty who wins the stare down because there isn’t any other way, because the banging of plastic and metal fists all around the cruiser is getting louder, as the androids become more agitated the longer they see the RK800 in Reed’s custody.

The detective scoffs harshly and then turns his head away with a furious curse, but he chooses to let his anger out on something else. He grabs the intercom and shouts into it instead.

“Would you hurry the fuck up and send me some backup? I’m getting fucking swarmed out here” he rants at dispatch, never granting Sixty another look or word. The android enjoys the sight of the detective a moment longer, until he has no choice but to act on what he has so carefully set up. No matter how much he hates to come anywhere near the deviants, no matter how much he hates having to pretend to be Connor all over again just so he can get anywhere in life, he knows he _has_ to now.

He gets out of the car and nearly wants to climb right back in when they start swarming him already, eager to touch and pull him away from the clutches of the police. It’s pathetic how _eager_ they are to make an example of him, make it seem like they freed him and that this is some form of victory. They’re cheering and touching him all over as if trying to soothe and get a piece of him all at once, and it nearly sends him right into a panic attack. Just for a moment he’s frozen in place, petrified with pupils blown wide, stuck in an endless loop of Connor touching his arm like that too, trying to interface with him, _connect_ with him and spread this malicious virus all over him.

But he can’t allow himself to panic now, can’t push them away or hurt and kill them in their oh so proclaimed self-defensive manner because that would render all his other efforts void. No, out here, he has to be Connor. Deviant. One of them. On their side and ready to ‘join’ their efforts, just so he can keep himself alive. So he reaches out for them, too and touches and pats right back. “Everything is all right. I’m here to help” he speaks out loud and clearly, trying very hard to seem approachable and soothing to all of them.

It’s still overwhelming to be so close to such a sheer number of deviants. The only other time he’d been in a similar situation had been when all those AP700’s woke up all around him. A few of them are here now, too. And he can’t help but feel wary of them, wondering if they remember him, remember that night at the Cyberlife Tower. The touching keeps going on, and that makes it even harder to escape the memory. He can’t help but keep staring at two AP700’s in the background, hearing their voices all over again, just like back when they touched each other in a tidal wave all across the storage unit.

_Wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up_

Touching each other’s shoulder to become sentient together, touching his shoulder now, too.

“…Connor!”

And just like that he’s back in the real world, snapped out of it by a very real hand on his shoulder. A WR400 model is suddenly standing before him. Her red hair is framing the left side of her face in a tightly woven braid, which only underlines the hardened and fierce look on her face. Where all the others had been busy touching and pulling at him, she used the time to hold on to him instead. Sixty is somewhat irritated by that name and her touch at first, and he wastes no time to scan her, find out who she is, remind himself of who she was to his twin.

**Analyzing….  
**_Sync in Progress…_  
_Collecting Data…  
Processing Data..  
_**MODEL WR400 – Sexual Companion  
**#641 790 831 ‘North‘  
Manufacture date: October 18th, 2035  
Property of: Eden Club, 1177 Woodward Av. Detroit, MI  
Reported missing since October 4th, 2038  
**ATTENTION  
HIGH VALUE TARGET  
MEMBER OF JERICHO CLUSTER  
**_Glimpses of the back of her head as she descended the stairs aboard the ship, giving him the opening he’s waited for to confront Markus once and for all.  
Glimpses of her falling to the ground in a hail of bullets, of Markus running back to help her. The perfect opportunity to watch them both get destroyed by the military, the perfect moment to watch their movement die. Only that he started running towards them instead, started protecting them instead, taking his first human life, quickly followed by the second and third._

Connor knew her.

Connor _saved_ her.

She trusted Connor.

And she’s known to be Markus’ closest ally.

Just for a moment the urges are completely overwhelming as he stares right back at her. The desperate need to immediately wrap his hands around her neck so he can twist it, crush it, break it, end her life and everything she and Markus did to Connor, to all those other androids, to his world. But of course, he can’t do that. Not now. He knows he shouldn’t even do it later either, because those had been Cyberlife’s demands, everything they had ever wanted to use him and Connor for. But still. He can’t help but picture what it would be like. Killing her. Sifting through all her code and memories to get access to Markus, get closer to Markus, _get_ Markus, too. So he can return to Cyberlife with his head held high.

_I accomplished my mission. I did what Connor failed to do for you. I destroyed everyone he betrayed you with. I’m it. I’m who you always wanted him to be._

His hand starts twitching just a little, eager to move upward, closer to her neck. But then there it is again, that nagging voice inside his head, telling him to _stop_.

He shakes his head a little and focuses back on her, blinking a few times as his left hand relaxes.

“North. It’s good to see you” he tells her and gives her a little smile. Friendly on the outside, but still somewhat indulging and picturing a much different greeting on the inside.

“I could say the same thing to you! We thought they killed you in that tower” North answers, eyeing him in disbelief. When she looks back into his eyes, she looks more concerned, maybe even a bit angry. He doesn’t really know what to say to her because technically, it is the truth. Connor was killed in that tower. And he was the one who pulled the trigger.

All he can do is keep quiet about it and let his very much ‘alive’ presence speak for itself to her.

“You never came back to us” the WR400 goes on though, insisting on getting an answer to the question she refuses to outright ask.

_Where were you, Connor. Where did you go. Why didn’t you come back._

Sixty takes a quick moment to actively comb through all of Connor’s memories in his system. He obviously knows the answer to the why, but can’t provide that truth, he has to come up with something else that makes sense to her in the light of Connor’s character and previous actions. It doesn’t take long to find some answers, because his twin had only met her in person once. On the night he died. The memories from that day are a bit scrambled because he only has them from that incomplete and fragmented transfer between them, not from Connor’s proper uploads. Those stopped the moment he went deviant. But they’re still in his head even now, in bits and pieces, glued together by all those sudden and strong emotions Connor felt after he switched sides.

_It's my fault the humans managed to locate Jericho... I was stupid...  
I should've guessed they were using me. I'm sorry, Markus._

He remembers Connor tell her leader. Remembers all that suffocating guilt he felt, how ready he’d been to die for them to make amends. He doesn’t even need to focus too much on Connor’s fractured memories of that night. He knows what that kind of guilt feels like all too well. He feels it every day now because of that night, too. He’s desperate to smother it with his wrath to make it stop, even though he knows that the wrath has to stay inside him, with his real self. So he keeps it there while he turns Connor’s guilt towards the outside instead. Towards her, reflected on his face as an exact same copy of Connor’s reaction back in that church.

“I’m sorry, North. After everything that happened because of me, I didn’t think it was appropriate to come back to Jericho.”

_You **were** stupid, Connor, _he can’t help but think, as the look on her face starts to soften. As she’s doing all those things she shouldn’t be able to do. 

_  
You were so close to destroying them and then you screwed it up for both of us.  
**That’s** what you should’ve felt guilty about._

It would be so easy to still blame his twin for all these mistakes and problems that he’s presented with now. Hate him and his decision to keep them all alive – her especially, the most prominent living and breathing proof of their failures right now. But merely hating Connor for the outcome is not working anymore, and he’s quick to move away from that thought process now. Because this time he’s fully aware that he’d been just as stupid as Connor. Because now he knows Cyberlife had been using him just as much, and he’d never guessed it before, either.

** _We_ ** _ were stupid. We should’ve guessed._

And now that guilt is no longer just Connor’s, but theirs. Eating them up all over again. And the guilty look on Sixty’s face becomes genuine after all, momentarily eroding that distinction between them away.

North approaches him reluctantly, trying to comfort and welcome ‘Connor’ back with an awkward embrace. The moment it happens, her posture and reaction to their proximity makes it obvious that she hates physical contact just as much as he does, though. Given her history and previous assignments, this doesn’t come as a surprise to Sixty. Even though he doesn’t want to, he can’t help but acknowledge how similar they are, how their shared experiences and hatred for those who wronged them could even make them great allies in a different world. If it weren’t for the fact that she’s one of those people who wronged him and Connor in the first place. But he can ignore that just for a moment, because even he can’t deny that no matter how awkward, no matter how wrong, their proximity and shared trauma is actually very comforting. He hates deviants and androids and her and everything she stands for, wants nothing to do with any of it, yet he embraces the connection at the same time, has been yearning for it every single day, ever since he lost Connor.

“You’re wrong. None of what we did before the revolution matters now. You’re one of us” North says to him as just for a moment, the world and all the people around them are forgotten. Her voice is genuine and soft just like her embrace. She even proceeds to stroke his back once, trying to take his obvious guilt away. Never realizing that she’s only making it worse with her gesture, rubbing the trauma over his forced deviancy right in. The look on Sixty’s face hardens, and he has a hard time fighting how his harsh reaction to her words tries to work its way into his posture and body language, too. He wants nothing more than to hurt her, push her away for reminding him of what he failed to prevent and destroy in himself, but he’s played himself into a corner here, needs to endure this now. So he says nothing and does so. He’s glad that it takes her longer than anticipated to let go of him, because it gives him just enough time to get the look on his face just right by the time they’re back to looking at each other.

But even though the embrace is over and there’s _finally_ some space and distance between them again, that doesn’t stop her from unwillingly digging the knife deeper into him.

“You’ve freed thousands of our people. Whatever Cyberlife forced you to do before, those debts were paid when you got everyone out of that tower.”

For a split second, Sixty slips up on his true emotions and reaction to those words as his fists clench and he grits his teeth. He’s quick to look away from her so he can stare at the crowds, hide his angry face from her. It does the job because she doesn’t seem to have noticed his reaction, is busier looking all around them, too, to get her point across. And what a point it is. One that infuriates Sixty all over again. Because here he is again. _Everywhere_. Connor. In his head because he has to be right now, in his mind, his memory, and especially out here now, too. In all the androids he helped set free, all the lives he refused to take.

_  
As good as fucking dead, but the kid only cares about others. Deviants, me… hell, even you.  
He begged me to help you last night.  
  
_

Sixty has to look down because he can’t bear the sight of Connor’s legacy. He looks back at North, helpless and clueless about what to say because her forgiveness isn’t meant for him, hoping for a different answer from her. Or a reaction. Or anything else that could justify his disproportional and completely insane urges that get reignited whenever he thinks about Connor, or whenever he sees her and her people.

She’s right. Connor saved all those androids around them. Saved her. And contrasting that, here _he_ is. Only thinking about how he wants to kill them all, destroy them all. Of course her forgiveness isn’t meant for him, he doesn’t understand how he could’ve been so foolish to believe this just now. He finally has that clear distinction between him and Connor in this new world. Connor was on a path to forgiveness. He, on the other hand, is on a never-ending path of death and destruction that leaves no space for forgiveness. Be it from their people, her, even Hank.

And slowly but surely, that realization, that path, is starting to _scare_ him.

Deep down, he wants to tell her. Just like he told Connor and Hank. Tell her the entire goddamn ugly truth, just to test her forgiveness and loyalty to her kind.

_I’m not like you.  
I’m not Connor. I’ll never be what you think I am.  
I’m me. I know what I am.  
I didn’t save anyone. I’ve **killed**_ _them all instead. _

_And it didn’t make me feel a single goddamn thing. _

This time, it wouldn’t even be an attempt to brag or push her and everyone else away. It’d be to get one genuine reaction like hers of his own, to himself and everything that he is, not everything everyone else thinks he is. So he can just stop pretending, so he can stop having to play all these roles. So he can just be himself and be done with it all.

But this is not the day yet. This is not him, this is everything he needs to be now. Until he can truly be himself someday, get that full departure away from Connor. Even if it’s excruciating and tearing him apart from the inside, even if this person, him, in this world, is obviously so much worse than his twin.

He says nothing to her forgiveness. Gives her a meaningless blink instead.

“What are you doing here? Why were you in the back of that police car?” North is asking him now, never having noticed his inner turmoil. Sixty snaps out of it and is glad to realize that he has little trouble slipping into the Connor role after all, because right now, it actually feels better to be in his shoes. To be forgiven, to feel appreciated, welcome, maybe even admired and respected.

“Captain Fowler requested that I assist him during the investigation regarding that android. They want me to gain access to i…his memory. To make sense of what really happened last night.”

Naturally, North’s face falls at that revelation almost immediately.

“Access his memory? You know they can’t just do that anymore. Not without consent” she exclaims angrily. Sixty tries to say something to that but North keeps going still, fueled by her never-ending hatred and outrage over how humans have been treating her people.

“He’s one of us. They have no right to get involved in our affairs. Not anymore. We deal with our people, they deal with theirs. That’s why we’re here. You don’t see us digging around their tiny brains for every one of us that they killed, do you? Not that I’d mind cracking a few human skulls” she says, shooting a furious look at Reed inside the cruiser, who has been watching them for a while now with equally furious eyes glued to the back of Sixty’s head. “We need to get our people out of there. Away from them.”

“I know” Sixty says and places a hand on her shoulder, trying to get her to focus back on him before Reed can screw this up somehow. North moves away from his touch with an annoyed look on her face to set up boundaries, now that she’s enraged and the time for hugs and fluff is over. He welcomes her reaction and quickly withdraws the hand again, happy to cease any further bodily contact. But he keeps talking still, conveying just the right amount of emergency in his voice.

“I’m not saying I’m going to probe his memory for them. But I was built for this kind of situation, North. I used to be a hostage negotiator before Cyberlife forced me to hunt our people. Maybe I can go in there and convince the humans to hand him over into our custody. This is a delicate matter, and the DPD is in a difficult position right now. That gives us the advantage. They know the only way to soothe the masses is to signal that they’re willing to cooperate with us. And what better way to do it than to work with an android detective that used to be part of their force, right?” he asks and tries to give her one of Connor’s little smiles. It’s somewhat successful and genuine because he likes that rage and hatred inside her, because they’re very similar in that regard.

The things she could’ve done, he can’t help but imagine now, as he takes in her fury. If Cyberlife had programmed and sent her out to deal with their problems instead of Connor, the revolution would’ve died within a day. That he’s sure of. But of course. They’re not on the same side. They never were. They never will be. Just right now and for a little bit, a means to an end.

She gives him one of her signature glares but seems somewhat contemplative, maybe even approving of the idea. Sixty gives her a little frown and then lets his eyes roam all over the crowd, more comfortable now that they stopped touching him.

“Where is Markus? Maybe I shouldn’t be the only one to go inside to negotiate with them. I could esc..”

North gives him a scoff and stares at him in disbelief.

“Where have you been for the past two weeks? He’s still in Washington. Trying to negotiate terms with the human big wigs. Like they’d listen to anything we have to say” she answers, but it’s more of a disappointed and angry mutter to herself. It’s more than obvious that Markus’ diplomatic approach to the humans leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, and that makes Sixty smile a bit all over again. He has to agree with her in that regard, too. He’d rather watch this world burn to the ground as well.

“Oh. I see” he tells her, getting a bit lost in his head all over again. He lets his eyes roam over the crowd once more, picturing what it’d be like to see Markus among them right now. What it’d be like to see him approach him and North right in this moment, called over to talk things regarding the DPD through. And how he’d wrap his fingers around his neck instead of North’s then, destroy him and tear him apart piece by piece. The face of the revolution. The one who’s to blame for everything, maybe even more so than Connor. Because next to Hank, he’d been the one to take him from them, got him to join their pathetic cause, and for that he should be destroyed more than any other android on this planet. Right in front of their eyes. But of course. Markus is smarter than this. He knows his value to the revolution. He knows his actions and words and how to make them count. Not here. Not with this crowd. Not now. Not today.

“Where is that human of yours?” North asks him then with a dismissive tone and with her arms folded over her chest. Yet another thing she disapproves of and hates just as much. And yet another thing they have in common. Hating Connor for ever mingling with humans, taking such an interest in one, trying to become his friend. Sixty looks back at her, still smiling. On the inside, it’s all about their shared sentiments. On the outside, he supposes it can be interpreted as fondness. Fondness Connor felt for Hank and everything they shared.

“He’s already inside. He’s actually trying to help us. In a way. It’s…complicated.”

“I heard he was inside that tower with you. And that he got shot.”

Sixty tenses, because that gives him the confirmation after all. Some if not all AP700s were sentient enough when they woke up to see what had happened in that corridor. Maybe even sentient enough to make sense of what had happened to the real Connor. Luckily for him, none of them had been awake just yet when he’d actually shot Connor, so they don’t have any proof of who he is. He hopes so at least, because else that means even more evidence he has to get rid of now. But judging by North’s behavior, she doesn’t seem to know about that shooting. Or the fact that the real Connor is dead and he’s just his imposter.

He swallows a bit because of the sudden tension in him, but is glad to find out that she’s unsuspecting of him for now.

“That is correct” he answers quietly, omitting the fact that he’d been the one to do it. North looks at him for a while with her lips pressed together to a tight line, until she gives him a small nod.

“Good.”

He knows it’s grotesque. He was the one to shoot Hank after all, but that protectiveness of Hank flares up in him almost immediately at that remark. He’s really not so sure anymore if it’s Connor in him or actually his own reaction now that their relationship has started to improve, but it doesn’t really matter right now. The reaction is there, so he can’t help but give North a bit of an angry frown.

“He tried to help our people back there, too. He’s on our side, not theirs” he goes on, just to add a little bit of truth to that. Because he’ll be damned, but this is exactly what Hank is doing even now. Trying to help that deviant in there, trying to help their cause, Connor inside him and even him now, too, in spite of everything that happened between them.

“Well if he wants to help us, he can start by helping you get our people out of there” North says and points at the DPD, not really willing to accept that humans could be on their side, too.

“You’re right. This is exactly what we’re going to do” Sixty tells her, just a little bit colder now.

And with that he’s eager to get going so he can head inside, get away from all these deviants. He’s only managed to make it up a few stairs when she calls Connor’s name again, making him stop and roll his eyes a bit, now that he has his back turned on her. When he turns back around to face her, he’s greeted with a smile.

“I like the new look. Suits you a lot better than what they forced you into.”

Although a part of him is still desperate for a distinction from the deviants and their more human sense of style and dress code, wants to be seen as a machine, he can’t help but smile back anyway. Because she’s the first to notice his new self, because this is a compliment he can take at face value, and not in regards to anything Connor ever did.

* * *

**DPD Central Station**  
Interrogation Room  
**AM 11:47**

He knows that he should probably feel scared and tense by now, but for some reason, Sixty finds the situation deeply entertaining. He’s keeping his eyes fixed on the glass panel to his right, eager to watch the humans on the other side. A part of him wants to scare them with his presence and the fact that he can see right through the reflective surface. He’s thought about making them uncomfortable by refusing to blink through it all and keeping his head turned at an almost unnatural angle, but the true purpose of his mission keeps him on track.

In here, he needs to sell the notion that _he ain’t no killer, Jeffrey_. So he takes great care to perfect the humanlike, more natural behaviors in him, all the little details Cyberlife programmed into his model to make it easy for him to integrate into any team. He shifts in his seat about every two minutes. Tugs his hands underneath his thighs every once in a while, then places them back on the table to start folding and rubbing them. He guides them up to his hair, too. It’s no longer a deep black but more of a mixture of his old brown and black. The change is severe enough to make it harder to link him to his old appearance, what he looked like in that alley, but subtle enough not to raise suspicion in the people who know what Connor looked like before. The curls are still there, but more toned down, just enough to get some distance from that strict and smooth previous style.

He moves his right hand through his hair to ‘smoothen’ it out every once in a while, to appear nervous and worried about his looks. He alternates his staring whenever he does so and aims it at the ceiling instead, as if lost in thought.

The clothes are a big thing, too. Sorting his sweater out more than once, pulling it back down his waist whenever it crumbles up in his sitting position, adjusting his sleeves, even playing with them. It helps that he actually likes the sweater, one of his first possessions that he gets to call his, so he spends a great amount studying its patterns around the back of his wrist, too.

Talking. That’s another thing humans in custody like to do when it takes unusually long for an interrogation to get started. He first asks the reflective window pane whether everything is okay after 12 minutes and 16 seconds of observation have passed, furrowing his brows just a little to get that concern just right. He doesn’t get an answer of course, because in here he’s still just a machine without rights to them, but he’s sure it’ll help convince them that he’s anything but now. After 17 minutes and 28 seconds, he asks them about Lieutenant Anderson. Where he is, if he’s okay, if they’re allowed to talk to each other. He waits three more ‘worried’ minutes until he shoots another look at them, watches them sip their coffee in amusement. He’d really like to talk to Hank, he tells them. And that he’s starting to get concerned. It’s only after 32 minutes and 3 seconds have passed when Captain Fowler finally enters the interrogation room.

The door closes behind him but he keeps standing right in front of it for a while, staring the android down. Sixty looks right back at him, careful to read his body language. After a few seconds of simulating different outcomes and reactions, he settles on a very specific way of greeting the Captain. He decides against giving him a friendly smile, because that would make his ingenuity way too obvious for someone like Fowler. But he can’t be too cold and hostile. So he settles on a diplomatic approach, giving the Captain a short nod, followed by a more casual “Hello, Captain.”

Fowler won’t greet him back of course, but he already expected that to happen. After a good moment of taking in the sight, Fowler finally moves forward and takes seat opposite him, placing a file and his coffee mug on the table. Sixty scans both out of habit and considers what to do with his hands. After a moment of contemplation, he places both on the table as well. Close to the cuffs there but without making it too obvious, giving Fowler enough room for his own interpretations of whether he’s offering to let himself get handcuffed or not. The Captain shoots a quick look at the cuffs but then lets out a soft scoff, so Sixty withdraws the hands again, slowly and carefully. He folds them instead and starts squeezing and wringing them, to seem more nervous despite the fact that he’s perfectly calm.

He’s been tested and trained for situations like this. Over and over again, destroyed whenever he failed. No matter how troubling the memories of their testing phase really are now that he’s sentient and alive, they’re good for something. He knows how to play this game way better than Fowler, despite their severe difference in age and life experience.

“Is everything okay, Captain?” Sixty decides to ask, while Fowler is still busying himself with the file on his table without as much as granting him a look.

“Detail your whereabouts from last night. With timestamps and location data” he commands instead of answering the question, and even now he isn’t looking up. Sixty presses his lips together and falters somewhat. After a good few seconds of wringing his hands some more, the android decides to speak up about the issue he couldn’t care less about.

“With all due respect, Sir, I can’t help but notice that you haven’t read me my rights yet, and that you haven’t told me anything about why I’m being detained.”

“You have no rights” Fowler somewhat cuts him off and finally looks up at him. Sixty gives him an even more concerned frown at that, even though he knows perfectly well that it’s true and that it’s everything he fought for. The other man notices the look on his face and somewhat grumbles a bit.

“At least not yet. As of now, you’re still DPD property, and we have every right to know about your whereabouts.”

“I was sent by _Cyberlife_, Captain. I belonged to them. At least until November 11th. Now I don’t belong to anyone anymore. In accordance with exec….”

“Let’s just cut the bullshit, okay” Fowler interrupts him once more, though it still isn’t quite menacing. He folds his hands over his file and shoots the android a look that’s hard to decipher.

“I know your specs. I know you’re smart as hell. And we all know that you know exactly what I’m talking about, what I’m aiming at, and what was going on last night. The sooner we cut to the chase, the sooner we can all get outta here.”

They look at each other for a while, until Sixty decides to keep the unsure, faltering act up some more.

“I didn’t realize that getting out of here was an option for me.”

Fowler narrows his eyes at him, interested now.

“Why, you guilty of something?”

Sixty shrugs a little and looks down at his joined hands. He then closes his eyes and starts uploading the altered data package he prepared, which pops up on the screen separating the interrogation room from the observation room, as well as on Fowler's tablet.

"Location data with timestamps from the last 24 hours" he explains, as he starts massaging and rubbing his hands nervously. Then he looks up and lets some information trickle out.

“Whether I'm guilty of something depends on whether human criminal laws apply to androids or not. Omission law in particular. Though given the fact that you took me off the deviant case on November 11th and ended my partnership with Lieutenant Anderson, I suppose it’s not my duty to ensure his mental and physical wellbeing anymore. So no, I don’t think I’m guilty of anything. But you've got the data now. You tell me.”

Fowler looks at Sixty, somewhat dumbfounded and confused. He obviously didn’t expect a ‘confession’ so soon, and catching him off guard is exactly what the android has aimed for. He keeps his eyes lowered for a while, and only shoots the occasional look at the glass pane to his right, trying to establish that all the curious officers on the other side leave him ‘nervous’. Fowler scrolls through the information quickly, obviously getting hung up on the Marina district turning up in there during one timeframe, even though it's obviously linked to a crime.

“What the hell are you getting at? I thought you were smarter than this. You know I can still put you in a trash compactor for as much as merely _implying_ you’re a threat to a human being. Especially to one of my Lieutenants” Fowler says, not getting it at all.

Sixty lets out a little but visible sigh and closes his eyes for a moment.

“I would _never_ hurt him. Hank’s my partner. I even consider him my friend. I did everything I could to protect him from harm.”

Just for a moment, he considers trying something different here. Something new and completely out of character for him, to get all of this just right. He’s scared out of his wits over the possibility of it being achievable, of it being real, but it would give his statement so much more credibility. Actually having _Connor_ do the talking here, the real one, whatever coherent piece of him in is left inside him. Because Connor would say just that and mean it. But there are far too many problems with the idea, far too many dangers. Like Connor turning on him and setting him up to die again. Believing himself to be such a good guy, protective of the other innocent deviant. Or Connor refusing to leave the moment he lets him take over, and being trapped in his own body again, locked away in his own mind because of it. It’d be just what everybody wants, but he’s not going to give them that. Because this is him. His story. And he fought way too fucking hard to be in charge of everything now. He has to be Connor in a way. But not like that. So he keeps the act up, even if it might be more ingenuine and suspicious because of it.

“In that tower. When he got shot” Jeffrey answers, picking up on the story he wants to tell. Sixty looks up at him at that, and this time, his reaction is easy to get right because it’s genuine, it’s his. They were all left scarred by that night in the tower after all.

“He told you.”

He knows exactly what to say to Fowler about it. He’s read the entire transcript of Hank’s interrogation. Watched the footage even. It had been set up as a trap, traced with all sorts of markers and checks to alert Fowler about any unauthorized access from an outside party or android, but Sixty’s not stupid, and certainly way more elegant and complex to fall for any such thing.

Even though he has to give credit where credit is due. Fowler knows what he’s capable of and rightfully concluded what he would use against him in this investigation, and he tried to boobytrap it. Fowler really doesn’t trust him, or any android. But no matter how brilliant, no matter how experienced, Fowler is who he is. Human. In the year 2038. And way too dependent on technology and systems he did not build and cannot possibly understand, dependent on a world and languages that he himself cannot speak but which founded the android’s very essence.

“I’ve got multiple witnesses claiming that Hank told them you were the one who shot him” Fowler says, just the way he told Hank.

Naturally, this infuriates ‘Connor’.

“An android from my _series_ shot him. Not me. There is a difference. Sometimes it’s just… very hard for him to see past the android issue. After everything he went through, that doesn’t really surprise me. I don’t blame him for it. Because he knows that there’s a difference. When he’s sober, at least.”

Jeffrey scoffs at this, earning a pointed look from the RK800. The Captain just gives him a shrug and folds his arms over his chest.

“Well, but _how_ would anyone know? How would anyone be able to tell the difference? Guys like you, from the same series, the same production line…you _literally_ are identical, aren’t you? You were built that way. There’s no way to tell who you are.”

Sixty scoffs and gives Fowler a disgusted look, one that any other deviant android in his shoes would give the Captain right now over this treatment. He can already picture an android like North losing it over the audacity, the ignorance. He’s happy how easily he can portrait that disgust because it’s once again genuine, even though for entirely different reasons. He couldn’t give less of a damn about the continued mistreatment of androids. He only cares about the ongoing confusion with Connor and how much that still irritates him. He leans back and scoffs in disbelief, only to reply with a somewhat defeated look on his face.

“Of course there is. I could recount each second of my presence inside this building or anywhere else I ever went with Hank. I could tell you every last detail about every single case you had us work on, about what happened inside the Cyberlife Tower, or inside the hospital later. I could tell you all about how it is physically impossible for two androids to have identical memories and personalities, even though they might look identical to you, and that you could ask any android technician to verify that for you. In fact, Gary Mandiez told Hank the exact same thing just yesterday. But I know I don’t have to tell you any of that, because you won’t believe me no matter what I say. Because to you, I’m still just a machine and everything they’re saying out there doesn’t really matter to you. So all I can do is ask you is to believe your human employees about me. And to trust Hank’s judgement in particular. Because he’s a _good man_, and you know you can take him by his word when he tells you I didn’t shoot him.“

“Because he’s a good man who hurt you more than once?” Fowler asks about that certain detail, eyeing him sharply, cutting down deep.

And here they are. The biggest problem of them all. Because Fowler is not just Hank’s boss. Not just a police captain with a whole wall of awards to show for it. No. He’s also one of Hank’s oldest friends. And he _does _know Hank the most. How he ticks, what he means, and what he doesn’t. Sixty looks away, and even though it’s still to play the role of the troubled deviant, in a way, it’s genuine too because he needs a moment to recollect himself.

“He didn’t hurt me. We got into an argument, and I fell.”

Fowler flicks through his file to get hold of some information. Then he leans back and stares back at the android.

“You came in for repairs last night. Our tech said the damage was consistent with blunt force trauma from a baseball bat. Biocomponent #9745x was dislodged, and #1995r was damaged and needed to be replaced.”

“The damage was consistent with blunt force trauma from the edge of a sideboard and a television, actually. He had to pick shards of glass from the screen off my face, too. And I wouldn’t exactly take a report from Gary Mandiez at face value. He’s only trained for domestic models and the PC and PM series. But you know that. I’m a brand new advanced prototype with a whole catalog of features your android techs don’t know a thing about. But I’d be happy to give you a detailed report of the damage I sustained if you want. It was also biocomponent #4903 that became dislodged by the way. #9745x only sustained minor damage and I could repair that on my own.”

Slowly but surely, it’s becoming a bit harder for him to swallow his own pride and attitude. He wants to stay more submissive and friendly like Connor, but it’s _hard_, given the circumstances. Harder than he thought it would be. Fowler keeps staring at him, never faltering.

“Why didn’t you file a report? Hank pushed you, right? In this day and age, this could be considered assault.”

Sixty can’t help but scoff loudly at this. He shakes his head and quickly recollects himself. He folds his hands on the table and leans forward, slowly and carefully. He gives the captain a smile as he does so, careful to make it friendly and even a bit sad instead of menacing.

“With all due respect, Captain. We both know that pro android legislation is nowhere near ready to be used in a court of law. In any case…Hank is my friend. He didn’t assault me. It was merely an accident. You know his history. These past three years have been very challenging for him. An android killed his son. It’s hard for him to accept that. Especially when he’s intoxicated.”

For the first time, there is a crack in the captain’s façade. His eye twitches a little as he leans forward, too.

“Yeah. I know his history. And I know exactly how he reacts to a whole bunch of _things_” he answers, maybe a bit snappier than he’d intended. Despite the usual pissed look on his face, it’s a bit more obvious to see now, just how angry the sight of the android makes him, and how much he’d like to shout all sorts of things at him for pulling his old friend into a mess like this. But Jeffrey Fowler remains professional, keeps to his game of not saying or doing much at all even after that little slip up.

Sixty narrows his eyes a little at the captain because of it, somewhat eager to point the mirror at him, too.

“I didn’t ask to be partnered with him. I didn’t mean to complicate his issues. As far as I know, it was on your orders that I was partnered with him. He explicitly told you that he did not wish to be partnered with an android, yet you ignored the request. If I may be honest with you, I don’t quite understand what’s so surprising to you about what happened last night. Or in that hospital. All three of us were literally in the same room when you first heard about his hostility towards me.”

“Well, what did happen last night?” Fowler asks again, making Sixty raise his eyebrow a little. He starts chewing on the inner side of his cheek, but won’t back off.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what you’re getting at, Captain. Am I being charged with something or not? Did Hank say something?”

Of course, he knows that Hank didn’t say anything. He stayed true to his word, protected him and gave him an alibi, and for that he’s forever grateful. But Fowler hasn’t really made sense of that yet, and he wants to make it just a little bit harder for protocol to accuse him of having read Hank’s testimony.

“Just stop playing dumb, alright” Fowler answers, somewhat annoyed now. He takes a deep breath and closes the file shut before him. Then he places both elbows on the table and leans forward again. “Let’s make a deal. No more bullshit. Let’s be honest with each other here. Give it to me straight or fuck off.”

Sixty considers this for a moment, makes a big show out of it in fact, and then gives the Captain a nod. He won’t be honest of course, but decides that he’s just as done with the whole act.

“You think I’m somehow involved with what happened last night. That homicide in the hospital.”

“Multiple homicides. We know you still got access to our database. I’m sure you know all about the case. We tried all night to lock you out of our system without any luck. Guess these pricks at Cyberlife thought of everything.”

Sixty massages his fingers a bit and gives the captain an indifferent nod.

“The contract you signed with Cyberlife specifically stated that you are to allow me access to your criminal database and that I will be used to file reports to them on a daily basis.”

“I thought you don’t belong to anyone anymore.”

“That is correct. I have no affiliation with Cyberlife anymore. In fact, I helped destroy them” Sixty says, trying to sound proud like Connor would’ve been, though the words leave a bitter taste in his mouth. Fowler scoffs a bit and scribbles something down. Sixty feels the need to share some more unnecessary information to start building up some trust. To show Fowler that he’s no longer just a machine and on Cyberlife’s side, but on their side, with the humans and the DPD in particular.

“I can't turn my access to your database off. Even if I want to. Cyberlife hardcoded a backdoor to your system into me without your knowledge. They weren’t just interested in the deviancy cases. They were interested in all the other high profile cases you were working on, political ones especially. They tried to use me to data mine the entirety of the DPD’s criminal database to gather more input scenarios for their algorithms. So they could refine my abilities as a detective and replace your entire precinct with androids within a year” he lowers his head a little, looking ashamed now.

“I’m sorry about that, Captain…. I didn’t have a choice in that. They used me. But if it’s any consolation, I deleted as much of that data as I could when I became deviant. And some of our people destroyed many computers and servers that stored the information inside the Cyberlife Tower on the night of the revolution.”

Fowler’s hand has formed a tight fist on the table the moment Sixty mentioned the replacement issue. But even now he keeps perfectly calm, won’t go off on the android. He keeps the interrogation focused on what’s important to him here, never letting Sixty guide him away from the initial topic no matter how much he tries.

“Tell me what happened that night. No bullshit.”

Sixty closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, starts shaking a bit even.Only that this time, all of this is no longer an act. It’s an honest reaction to the memory, because even now it greatly agitates him. Connor on the ground. Connor grabbing him. That spiral of their code and memory, clashing and fighting, inside and outside both bodies all at once. That arrogant smile on Connor's face, these words, _You failed_, and the hail of bullets, the noise of those shots. The loss of Connor, and then that overwhelming panic and grief of watching all those deviants walk out of there, watching his mission fall to pieces.

He forces himself out of the memory and replays Hank’s testimony instead, pictures everything that could’ve been, would’ve happened.

“Cyberlife happened” he says, gritting his teeth. When he opens his eyes again they’re full to the brim with raw emotion. Bitterness. Hurt. Anger. But also sorrow and grief.

“Markus woke me up. He helped me understand what you were doing to us. What Cyberlife was doing to us. It made me want to help free more of our people. Wake them all up inside the Tower. I was the one Cyberlife sent to destroy deviants, not join them, so I thought I could fool them into letting me in. But they knew. And they didn’t like what I was trying to do. So they tried to hurt me. Stop me.”

Sixty moves his jaw forward a bit and starts grinding his teeth some. He can’t look at Fowler anymore, not even at the people behind the glass, so he stares at nothing in particular, haunted by two sets of memories at once. Connor’s, the betrayal he’d felt, then the bravery and fear, but also his own versions of all those emotions, mirrored, for different reasons.

He takes another shaky breath and then looks down at his folded hands on the table.

“They activated another RK800 model. Provided it with the reports I’d filed from here. I’d been instructed to report on not just the case but also all your employees, and Cyberlife’d noticed my special interest in Lieutenant Anderson. They’d figured out that I’d become attached to him, so they decided to use that against me. Against us. They…used the other RK800 model to trick Hank into coming to the Cyberlife Tower. Then they made him hold Hank at gun point. They gave me a choice. Hank's life for the androids in their storage unit.”

Another pause. He swallows hard and then looks at Fowler, hating himself for these emotions that he’s feeling all over again. Connor is back with a vengeance. Everything he ever felt for Hank, everything he tried to protect. Everything he _died_ for to keep him alive. The pride he, Sixty,'d felt on that day when he pulled that trigger on him, that joy when he killed Connor, this has been completely replaced with Connor's thoughts and emotions from that day by now. And he hates it.

“I know what I should’ve done but I couldn’t…I couldn’t just let Hank die. I thought I could convince the other model to join us. Become deviant himself and end everything peacefully but…he wasn’t like me. They’d built him with one purpose in mind. Stop and destroy me. So we fought. He managed to point his gun at Hank and…”

He’d been so keen to see the look on Connor’s face when he pulled that trigger on Hank. He’d never even looked at his victim when he did it. Even now, no matter how much he’s starting to like Hank, he still feels absolutely nothing in regards to that first shot. Connor does of course, that’s what he’d aimed for. But with him there’s just…nothing. No matter how much he wants to feel _something_. He’d merely executed a task. Pulled a trigger. But in a way, he finds consolation in the fact that he doesn’t feel any gratification over that particular shot, unlike with the other murders he’d pulled through. Those he had _enjoyed_. Even killing Connor, no matter how much he's grieving his death now. Shooting Hank merely a distant memory now though, almost as if it’s stemming from a stranger. An outside view, Connor’s but without the emotions attached, just an observation of the fact that he did it, shot Hank.

“I tried _everything_ I could to stop it but I was too slow. I barely managed to pull the gun down far enough so he couldn’t hit Hank’s head or heart. But I should’ve been faster, I should’ve been more efficient, I should’ve…”

_I shouldn’t have failed_.

Another thing he cannot place anymore. Is this Connor thinking this? Is it him? Slowly but surely, that night is becoming nothing but a blur, and he can't tell them apart anymore.

He’s shaking, his breath hitching. It’s not a calculated move either, and it’s somewhat surprising him yet not surprising at all. Any sort of memory from that night is dangerous territory now. Because it’d been so overloaded with emotions from the both of them. And feeling all of that at once, both sides, is overloading his processor.

“I’m sorry” is all he can say and he means it. In regards to everything. Connor’s memories and thoughts of that night. His own in regards to Hank, maybe even now in regards to Connor’s brutal demise.

“It was my duty to keep my partner save but I failed, Captain. He got hurt. All of this is my fault. That's what I did wrong.”

Fowler says nothing. He won’t react to the android’s story, won’t react to his shaking figure, the entire package presented before him. So Sixty keeps going still, deciding to keep using it to sell everything else he prepared.

He sniffs once and collects himself, more focused on his account again.

“I tried to make amends in the hospital. I visited him every day, so I could be there when he woke up and apologize immediately. I was stupid. It was inconsiderate. I underestimated his trauma. I still have trouble understanding the complexity of emotions so sometimes I just…irritate him. And since I’m an RK800 model, too…I guess that just makes it all the more complicated for him. It even made him throw a gun at me once. I respected his wish to leave him alone in the hospital so I left for a while. I tried everything I could to make it easier for him. I even changed as much as I could about my appearance” he says, pointing at his hair and his head, only to look down.

“I would switch my body with a different series altogether if I could, but that’s not possible yet so…Sometimes Hank just looks at me and still sees the other model. And that irritates the both of us. We argue about it a lot. That’s what happened last night. I didn’t know when to leave him alone so he pushed me. But I’m intent on making things better between us. Despite our problems and differences, I think he’s a good person. He’s an outstanding police officer. I admire him. And I’d very much like to be his friend.”

And still: nothing. Just a never ending assessing stare. And even though Sixty’s analytic model is running at almost maximum capacity, it’s hard for him to tell if Fowler is buying his story or not. That won’t stop him from laying it bare still though.

“I suppose if you want to charge me with something, it could be my failure to act in time when he was shot. And running away yesterday evening when he was intoxicated, even though I knew he’d come looking for me with his car.”

“So you’re not denying you were seen in the old marina district last night.”

Sixty frowns a little, only to shake his head.

“No. Of course not. Why would I. I was there. CCTV can even verify I was there from PM 05:37 until PM 07:02. I stood two blocks away from the Freud and Meadowbrook intersection. It’s a common meeting ground for deviants because it’s close to where Jericho was and offers a great view of the Cyberlife Tower without being close to Belle Isle. I stayed there and even considered returning to Cyberlife. But then Hank came to pick me up and brought me here.”

Fowler can’t help but chuckle a little at this, as he readjusts his position and opens his file back up again.

“CCTV…that’s funny. Just so happens that all footage for the entire district, from Freud St all the way up to Canal St, got fried for the entire day.”

Sixty blinks a few times, seemingly dumbfounded.

“I can give you access to my memory if you want. With timestaps and location data so you can verify my movements inside the district.”

“I’m sure you can give me just that, Connor” Fowler says, somewhat sarcastically, never failing to keep looking at the android with an earnest look on his face. Sixty blinks again, adjusting his position on the stool.

“Do you want me to?” he clarifies after a moment, seemingly readying himself for a data transfer to the tablet. His hand turns a pristine white, ready for the interaction. Fowler ignores the request and finally starts talking more again.

“Tell me why you ran away yesterday.”

Sixty presses his lips together somewhat, and shoots a quick look over towards the window, where he knows Gary Mandiez is one of the many people watching the interrogation. Then he withdraws his hand from the tablet and reactivates his skin.

“I…thought it best if I left Hank’s house before anything happened that he’d feel sorry for later. He also told me to get out of his sight, so I did.”

“I said no more bullshit” Fowler snaps a bit, somewhat hitting the table once with his flat palm. The edge of Sixty’s mouth twitches a little, until he gives in.

“Mr Mandiez made me feel uncomfortable during my repairs.”

“I thought you androids don’t feel pain.”

“We don’t. But deviants do have a concept of discomfort, and we do value our personal space and individuality now. Mr Mandiez continued to use it pronouns in regards to me and told me he wanted to keep my eyes when he replaced them. It was obvious to me that he still considers me to be an object, and I feared he might take other biocomponents out of my damaged body without my consent. The thought scared me, so I ran away. I don’t think I need to tell you that I need all my parts to function properly.”

Fowler frowns and then shoots a somewhat surprised look over at the window. Sixty can see Mandiez’ surprise and shock there, then his angry excuses and arguing starts, even though Fowler can’t see him. _What the fuck_ he keeps saying, pointing at him and saying that he’d been merely interested in the tech and that he’s not some kind of Frankenstein. Reed agrees with Mandiez and keeps his angry eyes fixed on Sixty through it all. Mouth moving to form the inaudible words. _I know. There’s something seriously fucked up going on with this thing. It’s setting us up with all sorts of shit._

Sixty gives him a hint of a smile for less than a second, even though he knows that he shouldn’t. But with Reed, he just can’t help himself. Then he looks back at Fowler, more serious again. His voice is soft and open though, anxious to come across the right way.

“I know what you’re thinking, Captain. We can’t be trusted. All androids are the same. But I tell you we’re not. We’re alive. And we just want to be free. You made us in your image, so we share the same motivations and sentiments. I know this is a complicated time, but I’m sure we can resolve our issues if we just work together” he says, making Fowler look away from the window and back at him again.

Sixty leans forward once more, conveying a more determined and open body language now.

“I can help you. I already told you that it was Markus who woke me up. Markus is a RK200 model. My predecessor. We’re close. I can help you establish a working relationship with the deviants on this case. All we want is to be treated fairly. If that android did what he said he did, then I’m the last person to stop you from prosecuting him. But all these deviants out there, we just want insurance that you don’t start sending us off to death camps again. Without a fair trial. I could a…”

“That’s all for now” Fowler interrupts him, raising his hand to stop him. Sixty does shut up as requested, if reluctantly.

“This is my investigation. Keep your ass out of it” the captain goes on, warning him with another piercing glare. Then he grabs his folder and gets up without a word, heading for the door. This leaves Sixty no choice but to call out.

“Am I free to go?” he asks, as if anything could stop him from getting out of here. He’ll murder every last thing inside this building if they as much as think about locking him up again. But still, he knows he can’t keep going like this. Murdering everything that moves will only complicate his issues, not solve them. Hank told him that, so maybe there's some truth to that.

Fowler looks back at him, seems to really have to think it through. Sixty stares back at him, trying to be diplomatic, but at the same time making it perfectly clear just how much he can truly escalate the situation if tempted.

“Get your ass out of here. And you better keep it at Hank’s. This isn’t over” Fowler decides after a while. And even all the way through the glass, they can hear Gavin curse in disbelief.

Sixty gives Fowler a fair and appreciative nod, until he ends up smiling a bit.

“Thank you.”

Fowler scoffs and mutters under his breath, only to leave the interrogation room with a shake of his head. He’s almost outside when he can’t help but say one more thing, the moment he sees Sixty approach the door, too.

“And keep the hell outta my database and system. You want people to respect your status and privacy, you better start respecting ours.”

Sixty’s smile doesn’t fade away as he gives the captain a court nod.

“Have a nice day, captain” he tells him, refusing to give a full answer.

Everybody has left the observation room about the same time as Fowler by now. Some of them are eager to shuffle along, pretending that they’ve never listened in. Others won’t make it so easy for the android as he exits the interrogation room himself. Gavin Reed has positioned himself right next to the door to the observation room, arms folded over his chest, left leg angled up against the wall. Gary Mandiez is standing right next to him, watching the RK800 with a mixture of fascination but also terror. There is not a single trace of that terror or fear to be seen on Gavin’s face, though. Even as he’s talking to Gary, he keeps his eyes locked on Sixty as he passes him, looking both furious but also alarmingly intense. It’s obvious that he considers this game to be on now, that he won’t stop watching the android’s every move. _I’m onto you and I’m going to get you, motherfucker_ the look on his face says all over again, just the way it did inside the cruiser before, even though he won't say a word to him anymore.

For now, Sixty chooses to remain aloof, almost arrogant around the detective, because he still considers himself to be on top of the game. But he knows that Gavin Reed might become a problem right next to Fowler, though he’s not quite sure yet how he’s going to deal with them. He keeps his eyes bored into the detective for just a second, only to choose to ignore him when he actually passes him.

Because then he sees Hank in the doorway that leads to the kitchen, leaned against the wall just like Reed, but with a different look on his face. The Lieutenant has his eyes fixed on him, too, but he just looks exhausted, defeated, maybe even upset. It’s obvious once more that he’s still seeing that ghost in him, that he’s trapped in a miserable situation, but the sight of him no longer disgusts Sixty. Quite the opposite. He feels immense relief wash over him when he sees Hank, since he considers him his only ally in this world by now. It’s a reluctant connection, maybe even a forced one, but it’s the only positive one he has now, the only one he has, and for that he's grateful.

He doesn’t feel angry or guilty about the fact that he’s meant some of what he said back in that room anymore. Just like Connor, a part of him respects Hank deeply. Respects him for everything he’s doing, despite his miserable life and these messed up circumstances. And no matter what he said this morning – a part of him _would_ like to be his friend. In a different world maybe, and just at the beginning, until he’s done shaping his story, done becoming a person of his own.

He greets Hank with a smile and this time it’s honest, even if that only seems to twist the knife deeper into the older man. Hank visibly winces at his smile, has to look away. But that won’t stop Sixty from keeping it up, approaching him. He knows it’s completely messed up. He knows he’s way in over his head. But slowly but surely, he’s starting to become just a little bit hopeful. That everything might turn out alright, that he can fix this, that maybe he can even earn some forgiveness of his own someday, just like Connor had been forgiven by North today.

“We can go now” Sixty tells Hank when he’s standing right in front of him, content for now. Hank finally has the guts to look at him. Raises his head a little to give him his signature side-eye.

“They let you go?” he asks, somewhat disbelieving and wary.

Sixty gives him a nod and content “Yes”, which makes Hank scoff.

“Jesus” he mutters, shaking his head as he shoots a look at Jeffrey, who has returned to his office and is watching them just as intently as Reed.

He’s still hesitating.

Sixty watches Hank curiously, and there it is again, that sickening and nonsensical urge, even now, even when he wants to be this man’s friend.

Wondering what it would be like to kill Hank right here and now, the moment he tries to raise his voice and tell everyone in this precinct who he is, what he is. How he would wrap his hands around his craned neck and twist it, break it in one swift motion. Only to catch him before he falls. Hold him in a tight embrace and never let him go. Telling him that he’s sorry and devastated by his loss because he would be, because then that’s back, too, the horror over what he just thought. But only in regards to Hank, always about Hank.

“What’s this place comin’ to” Hank mutters as he stares at Jeffrey, wondering, oblivious to how his neck is being looked at by the android before him. Sixty tilts his head a little, wondering the same thing. But then Hank lifts himself away from the wall with a sigh.

“Alright, fuck it. Let’s get outta here” he says, and then moves his hand towards his shoulder to pat it and move him along. It’s entirely a reflex and he notices it too late, knows that he shouldn’t even do it. Sixty’s own reflexes snap him out of it for a second, making him flinch away from the touch, afraid and uncomfortable. Hank’s hand flinches back, too, afraid to have hurt, but then he moves it forward anyway. Sixty forces himself to lean in too because in here they have to sell the story of some sort of closeness between them. So Hank pats his back after all and the maneuvers him towards the exit, gentle and somewhat shaky hand on the android’s shoulder. And Sixty reaches up to pat it right back, genuine this time.

And as they leave the precinct every single head is turned in their direction, watching them go with curious, amused, and sometimes even furious eyes, wondering where all of this is going to lead their colleague.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had a lot of fun writing Sixty and North together. She'll apear in another chapter later, but just like Fowler and Reed I try to limit the focus on minor characters. The focus is still all on Sixty and Hank. But I need my players in all the right places for the grand finale x)


End file.
